The Lion, The Wolf and The Hawk
by lycanus1
Summary: Where two friends seek solace in each other after the fallout of "The First Cut Is The Deepest." D/G, D/T *WARNING: rated for strong language and slash*
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Lion, the Wolf and the Hawk  
**Type:** friendship; romance  
**Summary:** Where two friends seek solace in each other after the fallout of **_"The First Cut Is The Deepest."_**

**Disclaimer: **The lads _still _belong to Jerry Bruckheimer & Touchstone Pictures - more's the pity ... anything you don't recognize can by blamed on my warped imagination ! _If_ they were mine, both Tristan and Dag would _still_ be with us, for mercy's sake ... No copyright infringement is intended.

**Warning:** _contains slash and strong language. _

_**A/N:** Please note this is a revised version of _"The Lion and The Wolf." I've been pretty bored lately and ended up re-writing/editing some of my fics and their plots. This one inevitably got, as Bors would say, "hacked 'n' slashed" simply 'cause I was at a loose end ...

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**The Lion, the Wolf and the Hawk**

**Chapter I**

_**Gawain's pov:**_

_Two days earlier:_

Gods ! Galahad can be such a child at times ... A petulant one with no sense of humour. For mercy's sake, it was only a bit of fun ! An innocent prank. How the hell was I to know that it was going to misfire ? Admittedly, Bors took things a bit too far, but I never thought Galahad would break things off with me. And all because of that godsdamn kilt ...

It's been three weeks now since it happened and he's _still _not talking to me. In fact, things are so bad between us that he's avoiding me like the plague and has even started accompaning Tristan on his patrols rather than be with me. _Tristan, _of all people ! It seems he'd rather snipe and bicker with our Scout than let me try to make amends.

Well, fine ... if that's how my stubborn Pup wants to be, fair enough. I'm _not_ going to chase after him ... See if I care ... He'll come running back with his tail between his legs when he realizes that he misses me and can't be without me. 'Til then I'll bide my time and carry on with my duties.

_**XXXXX**_

_Present time:_

I hate seeing how unhappy and withdrawn Dag's become. He's not been the same since he broke up with Tristan. Being with Raven seemed to do him a world of good and he was happier for a while. For one so young, she was a wise girl and although I could tell she was madly in love with him, she knew Tristan still held Dagonet's heart. In the end, she sacrificed her own happiness and set Dag free.

We all expected Dag and Tris to settle their differences. To kiss and make up. But it didn't happen. Dagonet was wary and feared the Scout would break his heart again. Surprizingly - and much to Dagonet's dismay - Tristan kept to himself and would vanish like an inish rather than keep company with the rest of us. He no longer came to the tavern and when he had to stay at the fort, kept to his quarters, the armoury or the stables. In fact, the only one he'd spend time with was Galahad and that was when they had to patrol together. I could tell he too, was suffering from the anguish of a broken heart after his shieldmate took the Celtic beauty as a lover.

The sad thing was, Raven, Vanora, Bors, Galahad and myself could see that although they were still in love, they were too stubborn and proud or feared further heartache to even make an attempt at a reconciliation.

Despite all the efforts Bors and I took to distract Dagonet from the Aorsi's deliberate elusiveness, it was obvious that our Roxolani Healer was very lonely and desperately missing the enigmatic Scout. Although Bors' intentions towards his young cousin were well-meaning, Dag began to feel stifled by his constant presence and in the end Bors was told in no uncertain terms to _"bugger off and leave me the hell alone so I can breathe."_

Strangely, I was tolerated - probably because I didn't crowd him and allowed him his privacy. It was only after the unfortunate prank on Galahad and his decision to leave me, that Dag and I began to spend more time together and got to know each other better. After all, we were both kindred spirits. Abandoned and ignored by the ones we loved.

We began to request patrol duty together. It made sense. Dag was avoiding Bors. Galahad wanted nothing to do with me. Tristan would only patrol with Galahad and none of us wanted to be paired up with Lancelot. Dag refused point blank to spend any time whatsoever with Arthur's second-in-command and seeing as Lancelot was the cause of his separation from Tristan, who could honestly blame him ? Galahad despised Lancelot for what he'd done to Dagonet; Bors went as far as saying he'd rather patrol with the Romans, or he'd end up throttling Lancelot; Tristan actually threatened to kill him and Arthur wisely - for once - decided it was best to keep the Scout and his favourite apart. And me ? I never could stand the smug Iazyges bastard. And considering how gravely he'd hurt my friend - well, he'd deliberately gone out of his way to hurt Dag in his pursuit of Tristan - I hated Lancelot with an intense, burning passion.

_**XXXXX**_

It was late in the evening and we'd both decided to set up camp for the night. I'd left Dag to deal with the horses as I went to collect firewood and to refill our water skins from a nearby river.

When I got back, both horses had been watered, unsaddled, rubbed down, tethered and were now grazing contentedly. Clad in a green undershirt which skimmed his leather-clad hips, Dagonet sat on an old, dead tree trunk, carefully cleaning the large bastard sword he favoured. Lost in concentration and deep in thought.

I leant against an oak and silently watched him. He looked tired. Haggard and drawn. Six months had passed since he'd parted ways with Tristan. And that time had clearly taken its toll on the pair of them.

Dag had always been a shy, quiet man and unlike his kinsman, skilfully avoided being the centre of attention. But his relationship with the Scout had been good for him. The enigmatic Aorsi had succeeded where everyone else had failed and drawn my friend out of his protective shell. Our gifted Healer had become more confident in himself, more at ease and self-assured.

But what had astounded us all, had been Dag's influence upon the mercurial, temperamental Scout. Tristan had always been a cold, reserved, sarcastic bastard and at first, Bors and myself had doubted Dagonet's wisdom in taking our resident deathdealer as his lover. But Tristan perversely, proved us wrong.

To our surprize, our Scout fell deeply and hard for Dag. Really hard. In fact, I'm not sure who was more astonished by it, me and Bors, Dag or even Tris himself. No matter ... Falling for our Roxolani Healer turned out to be a very good thing for him. Tristan became so much easier to deal with and to be around. He was still the same aloof, sarcastic bugger, but his remarks and wit had less bite. In Dagonet's company, he was a different man. We got to see another side of him - and it was one we rarely got the privilege to witness. He was warm, sincere, devoted, gentle and loving. He adored Dagonet with a genuine passion and that's why we all couldn't understand why he ended up hurting the one he professed to love so dearly.

Things were never right between them after that. Dagonet reverted to his old self and lost all of the confidence which had made him so appealing. He took to drinking heavily in order to forget. To try to dull the pain of losing Tristan. The weight soon dropped off him, as he often forgot to eat or just couldn't be bothered to make the effort. It was heartbreaking to see the change in him.

Then Raven happened ...

I don't want to be disloyal to Tristan, but the lovely, young Celt was a mixed blessing. Like I said, we had hoped, once the dust had settled, that Tristan and Dagonet would reconcile, but nothing came of it. Raven, thankfully, befriended Dag at a time when he truly needed someone. At first, her motives were genuine, all she offered was friendship. She cared for him and hated the way he was drinking himself into an early grave. They became close and Dagonet, because he was lonely, took her to his bed. But then, the poor lass fucked up ... She fell in love with him. Raven quickly realized that Dagonet's heart belonged to Tristan and that he'd never be completely hers. In the end, she let him go, even though it broke her heart to do so ...

So now, Dag's alone once more. Lonely, withdrawn, unhappy and pining for his love. Desperately missing his Tristan. But Tristan's become a wraith. Flitting in the shadows. Nursing a broken heart, he refuses to have anything to do with Dagonet. Tristan's hurting badly and when Tris hurts, he lashes out like a wild animal. And that's why he's ignoring Dag. He avoids the one he loves, in order to stop himself from hurting him. No matter which way I look at it, the situation between them is completely fucked up.

Dag and I have always got on. I'd trust the big man with my life and he's the one I turn to for advice and guidance. I value both his opinions and his friendship. He's a kind, gentle soul who longs for peace, yet is one of the bravest men I have the privilege to know. His courage on the battlefield is unequalled and his loyalty to his friends and loved ones is unswerving. In all honesty, I couldn't ask for a better or truer friend.

In this hell we've been forced to live in, Dagonet has become my family. My brother. My confidante. And my rock.

Suddenly, Dagonet looked up, his wise, sorrowful, silver gaze colliding with my startled blue.

"You're back, brother," he stated calmly, the tone of his deep voice soft as it interrupted my thoughts. "Wasn't expecting you so soon ..."

Approaching him silently and at a leisurely pace, I smiled faintly, shrugged my shoulders and dropped the kindling on the ground. I knelt down and began to dig a hole in the soft earth with my axe, then placed some rocks around it, before filling the scrape with dry moss and twigs. Because the earth and the wood were dry, it didn't take long for the tiny spark I'd created with my piece of flint to take hold and turn into a raging fire. I sat back on my heels and grinned in satisfaction.

"Is there anything to eat ?" I saw him shake his head and roll his eyes in bemusement. He sighed and reached for the nearest saddlebag.

"You and your appetite ..." he muttered huskily. "You're almost as bad as Bors."

"_Hey !_ I could _never _be as bad as your cousin. Don't know how poor Van copes with him." I grinned as he brought the saddlebag to me. Shaking his head, Dag handed me the bag and shrugged his impressively broad shoulders.

"I've often wondered how the lass puts up with him. It's a wonder she hasn't turned on him by now," he remarked idly. "That wench is far too good for him and I hope he realizes it. How bloody lucky he is to have her ..."

I opened the saddlebag and peered into it, then pulled out its contents. Along with the fresh water skins, there was a flagon of ale, some fresh bread, dried meat and a couple of apples.

"Will you eat, brother ? You look as if you could use a good meal- "

He slowly shook his head. "Maybe later, Gawain ... After I've bathed. But if you wish to eat, I won't stand in your way. Eat, my friend. I won't be long ..."

Dagonet moved away and bent down to where his saddle lay to pick up a spare bedroll. It was only then I picked up a change in his actions. Normally, he moved with a silent, fluid, wolf-like grace, but as I continued to study him, I noticed Dag give an imperceptible wince, then gingerly rub the small of his back. Then just as quickly, he hid whatever pain he'd felt and for a strappingly built man leapt nimbly to his feet.

"I won't be far, brother. Call if you need me ..." And with that remark, he turned on his heel and briskly headed for the river, with my puzzled, watchful gaze firmly fixed upon his retreating figure.

_**XXXXX**_

Time passed and Dagonet still hadn't returned. Worried, as the light was fading, I checked that the horses were still firmly tethered then picked up my broadsword and sheathed a dagger at my waist, before going in search of my friend. It was unlike him to be late. Of all of the Sarmatian knights, Dagonet was the most reliable and the one least likely to break his word. I began to fear something had happened to him.

For once, I decided to err on the side of caution and warily kept to the safety of the wood's treeline, which ran parallel to the rapidly flowing river. At first, I failed to see him. Then a slight movement caught my eye.

Standing tall at the water's edge, our Healer appeared lost and vulnerable as he stared into the distance. He appeared desperately lonely and full of sorrow. It was getting late and the sun was low in the sky, its fading brilliance casting light and shadow upon his powerful, naked torso.

That's when I first noticed the white cloth which he slowly and tentatively unwound from around his lean waist. The pale scrap of material contrasted sharply with his tanned skin. He gasped sharply in pain. As the cloth loosened, I saw that it was freshly stained. A deep scarlet. I could've sworn on my life that he hadn't been wearing that bloodsoaked binding two days ago. We'd been involved in a bit of a skirmish earlier this morning with a couple of rogue Woads. Dag had fought hard and bravely, yet I couldn't recall him sustaining any injuries. But seeing the large, painful bruise on his lower back and the gaping, bloody wound on his right flank proved me wrong.

In hindsight, I should've realized something was wrong with him earlier. He _had_ been favouring his right side during the day and his left hand _had _often drifted to clutch his flank when he believed I hadn't been paying attention. At times, the deathly pallor of his skin made the cruel scar that marred his face appear very livid. It was like Tristan often remarked, I'd looked but I'd failed to see what was going on before my very eyes. I couldn't believe that Dag had been hurt without my knowledge. That I'd been completely unaware of it. Huh ! Some friend I'd been ...

Now, if I'd been wounded, Dagonet would've known instantly. Being a Healer, it was something he was instinctively aware of and he would've played merry hell with me, if I'd tried to hide any injuries. But my friend had become a bit of an enigma over the past six months. And a recluse. One who was very adept at hiding things. He'd become like the beast Tristan had named him. A wolf. Secretive. Wary. Guarded. And solitary. He was still my friend. My brother. But I grieved for the brother and friend that I'd loved and lost.

Kicking myself for being so blind and so stupid, I silently sheathed my broadsword and decided to make my presence known.

"Dag, you fool ... Why didn't you say something ? You should've told me you were injured. That you're in fucking pain. You're a healer for mercy's sake and you should know better than to hide something like that ! What the hell were you thinking of, man ?" I was furious, yet I wasn't angry with him. I was livid with myself for not watching my brother's back. For failing to protect him.

"I ... I ..." Dagonet swayed unsteadily, his pale eyes glazed and unfocused. His formidable strength abandoned him, his knees buckled and those long, strong, sinewy legs gave way beneath him and he began to fall. Mercifully, he never struck the surface of the water.

Shocked, I managed to drag him over to the bank. He felt like dead weight. In all the years I'd known him, Dagonet had never collapsed like that. He was one of the strongest people I knew and to see him like this, in such a hellishly bad way, scared the fucking shit out of me.

The wound had opened again and was bleeding freely. I was no healer, but even I could tell this was bad. That it would need cleaning, suturing and binding. That for once, Dagonet would need to be cared for instead of being the one who always tended to and put others first. Ahead of himself.

Worried, I ran my hand through my messy, blond hair and stared down at Dag, assessing him. His sallow skin felt cold and clammy. The daft idiot had clearly lost more blood than he'd let on and going by his rapid, shallow breathing he was in severe pain. Frowning, I grabbed hold of the makeshift binding he'd worn, dipped it into the clear water and carefully began to swab the wound clean. Although I was careful, I felt him flinch at my touch. The taut muscles of his abdomen clenched and trembled as the wet cloth dabbed his now crimson-stained flesh. I was so caught up in the act of cleaning the wound, that I was unaware of the mild scrutiny which came from a pair of half-closed, silver eyes.

"I ... I'm sorry, Gawain," his hoarsely whispered admission startled me. "I didn't think the wound was so bad. I'd hoped ... I'd hoped to be back to the fort before anything like this happened. I didn't want to burden you with this, my friend- "

I sadly shook my head in disbelief. "Dag, you daft git ... You're family. My brother. If you can't impose on a friend at times like this, then ... _Shit !_" The wound continued to bleed and I found myself pressing the cloth against it to staunch the flow, hating the way the red seeped through the material and stained my fingers. "We can't stay here. It's far too exposed ..." With my free hand, I slung his bedroll and dark green undershirt - avoiding looking at the now obvious, large bloodstain which marred the garment - over my shoulder and eyed him with concern. "If I help, do you think you can make it back to camp ?"

Dagonet silently dipped his cropped head in acknowledgement and struggled to his feet. He grimaced with pain and immediately closed his eyes.

"_Fuck !_" he hissed through gritted teeth. His warm hand instantly went to his side, covering mine. The unexpected contact made me feel as if I'd been struck by lightning, reminding me of how the tiny flint spark earlier had swiftly turned the kindling into a roaring fire.

Wide-eyed and stunned by my new-found discovery, I hesitantly met Dag's mildly curious, yet warm gaze. Bemused, he watched me, head tilted to one side, his brow lightly furrowed as he tried to work out what was going on in my head.

"Gawain- ?" he began warily.

I slid my right arm around his waist to prop him up and felt his warm, hard, lithe body slump against mine. My hand pressed the cloth firmly to his injured side and I felt his hot breath briefly caress my cheek as he murmured, "Sorry ..."

I gave him a faint, half-hearted grin, one which did not reach my eyes that he, thankfully, didn't seem to notice. "'S all right, Dag. I've got you ..."

"Gawain ... ?"

"Aye ?"

"Thank you."

Confused by the sudden onslaught of emotions that I felt towards him and not knowing quite what to say, I shrugged my shoulders. Avoiding those intelligent, yet inquisitive, eyes once more, I muttered gruffly, "Aye ... well ... never mind all that. Best get you back to camp and see to that wound of yours, eh ?"


	2. Chapter 2, pt I

**Disclaimer:** _Still_ not mine, despite an obsessional, copious amount of wishing, hoping and praying. Everything recognizable belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer and Touchstone Pictures - godsdammit !

**Warning:** _contains slash and strong language._

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**Chapter II, pt. I**

_**Dagonet's pov:**_

Gods ! Why after all this time does it still hurt so badly ? I just wish that this pain would simply disappear and leave me in peace. Part of me wants it to just vanish, so that I can get on with the rest of my life. Yet the rest of me, still foolishly clings to the memory of what I had. What I'd lost. What I desperately long to regain ...

It's been six months since that fateful day. Six, long fucking months since my world fell apart ... I lost everything that I held dear simply because I witnessed something I shouldn't have. I saw the one thing I'd treasured, loved the most, being stolen away from me, just by being in the wrong place at the right time. And it tore me up. Broke me, crushed my spirit and shattered my heart. Fragmenting it, until I believed it was beyond repair ... I'd hoped - prayed - that I'd be able to move on ... But I can't. I'm unable to. I feel as if I'm in limbo. Unable to move forward or go back, no matter how badly I crave it. And it's all thanks to_ him. _The one responsible for all my suffering. My anguish and despondency ... My handsome, ruthless, treacherous Scout. _My_ Tristan ...

At first, after I'd caught Tristan with that devious, Iazyges bastard, I genuinely hated him. For months. I truly loathed him. Yet I _was_ conflicted. Inspite of my animosity, I couldn't deny that I was still in love with him. That I _couldn't_ stop loving him. Tristan's in my blood. Is part of me. And without him, I'm incomplete. There's just a cold, black void where my heart used to be. An emptiness. And the only thing that remains is the shell of the man I'd once been.

I genuinely thought that if I avoided Tristan, steered well clear and have as little contact as possible with him I'd be able to cope ... By the gods, was I fucking wrong ... I have bad days and _bad_ days. Usually, I struggle to get by. It's like I'm treading water and I can barely keep afloat. But on the _bad _days ? The ones where I desperately miss, need and want him and I feel so fucking lonely that I ache ? That I feel as if I'm slowly, but surely, going insane ? Those are pure hell ! And all I can think of is how much better things would be if ... if I my attempt to kill myself _had_ been successful. If I'd died. If I no longer existed ... And sometimes I feel an intense urge to try again. A burning, insatiable need to take a different approach and not fuck it up like the last time. And when the pain, the anguish, becomes to great to bear, as it so often does ? The thought of taking my own life, by whatever means possible, becomes so bloody appealing. So unbelievably tempting ...

And I despise myself for still missing him. For being so weak. I can't help it. The needy ache I feel persists. It strengthens instead of diminishing. Absolutely refuses to bloody fade. And just to distract myself, to try and forget the pain, to forget Tristan, I did something I'm_ not _proud of ... Something which shames me even now.

I used a friend and ended up hurting her. I never meant to, it just happened. For a while, Raven made me happy - well, made me feel something akin to happiness ... Yet, no matter how fond I was of her - and I swear on all that's sacred, I _did_ love her in my own twisted way - I couldn't give her what she sought. What she wanted from me. She yearned for the one thing I _couldn't_ share, no matter how much I wish I could. My heart was no longer mine to give ... Not when Tristan possessed it completely and always would, until I passed on to the next life ... Tristan owned my heart - as well as my body and soul - and there was no room in it for anyone else. And for one so young, Raven had wisdom beyond her years and quickly realized that I'd never - could never - be entirely hers. She set me free. I was alone once more. Alone with my pain and my memories.

I know everyone expected a reconciliation between us. That Tristan and I'd be able to settle our differences. But it never happened. I was far too wary. I feared he'd break me again. I needn't have worried. My beautiful Scout began to isolate himself from us all. He became like me. A recluse. As elusive as a wraith. He was rarely at the garrison and forever patrolling. If not by himself, then he'd make a point of only riding with Galahad. And the knowledge that he was avoiding me, hurt like hell ... Even though I'd also been eluding him for months.

Like I said, I missed - no - I_ miss _Tristan desperately. I miss his company. The way he makes me feel. His sarcastic humour and sharp intelligence. The warmth, passion and gentleness that I alone had been privileged to witness and to feel. How loving and tender our bloodthirsty Scout could be with the one he truly cared for. And how protective he could be. I miss hearing him laugh. Seeing those striking amber eyes crinkle at the corners when he gives a rare smile of genuine amusement. The way his gaze becomes heated, smoky with desire, as he watches me and how his tongue darts to moisten his full lower lip, or even when he chews that same lip in fierce concentration.

I miss his touch. The feel of those sinfully, wicked lips and the scrape of beard grazing my bare skin as he seduces me. His light, playful kisses, which become sweet and lingering, then suddenly heated, full of hunger and desire. The way his long, calloused talented fingers roam possessively over my body. Teasing. Tormenting. Making me ache for so much more ... I miss the feel of his lean, lithe frame against mine. How his beautiful, sinewy, naked body wraps itself around me; his sleek, toned limbs entwine with mine as he loves me with every fibre of his being. I know every fine line and muscle that he possesses as well as my own. And the same goes for every scar and blemish which marrs his smooth skin. I miss the feel of his hard, long, thick length sheathed deep within me as he takes me to my own personal Avalon. My haven. My paradise.

And I miss the soft, deep growls of pleasure he utters as I take him and the soulful endearments of undying love he whispers to me, as we lie entwined in the afterglow of our passion. Gods ! I fucking miss him so much ... Truly miss him. The craving and yearning hunger I still have for Tristan pains me far more than any wound I've suffered in battle. Far greater than any injury I've had the misfortune to sustain. And I'd give anything - everything I possess - to have him back at my side. In my arms. In my bed ... Yet to my utter despair, deep down in my heart, I know it'll _never_ happen - at least not while we both foolishly persist in avoiding each other ...

_**XXXXX**_

I know he means well ... that he only does it because he cares. But lately, Bors has been stifling me. I feel smothered by his constant presence. Ever since that night on the ramparts, when he confessed he knew what had happened between Tristan and that conniving Iazyges bastard. That I'd witnessed it. The same night he'd beaten an unrepentant Lancelot to a bloody pulp, then saw my bare, scarred forearms without their vambraces and I'd finally broken down in his arms ... But since then, I've not had a minute's peace or time to myself. Bors has been my constant shadow. Following me like a persistent boarhound, because he fears I'll do something stupid. I know the stubborn bastard loves me and that his intentions are good, but in the end something had to give. And that something was me ... I snapped.

I'm not good with people. I do better on my own and after a while, I need my own personal space. Time alone to reflect and unwind. The others are more gregarious. They like company and they fail to understand that I _need_ my solitude - especially Bors. The only one who understood - truly comprehended - my need for peace and solitude was Tristan. Being a beast of a similar nature, he recognized a kindred spirit when he saw one ... and that's probably one of the reasons we'd always got on. He knew that craving well and respected my feelings about it. He also knew damn well when to leave me alone.

But Bors has never known when to give up. I ended up telling him in no uncertain terms to _"bugger off and leave me the hell alone so I can breathe." _I know that hurt him, but it _had_ to be done, otherwise I'd have lost what little sanity I still possess.

But Gawain's different. Throughout this entire chaotic, fucking mess he's been a true friend. He never crowded me and gave me my privacy when I needed it. Made me laugh when my spirits were low. And was there whenever I needed company and support. If I'm honest, I couldn't have asked for a better friend.

It was during this time, Gawain - under Bors' influence and a fair amount of Vanora's finest brew - made a grave error of judgement involving the Pup and his kilt. Needless to say, things - which were never properly accounted for, I hasten to add - turned out badly. The Whelp broke things off with Gawain and wanted nothing further to do with him. Gawain and I became kindred spirits - abandoned and ignored by our loved ones. In turn, we naturally sought each other out and bonded over our misfortune.

Arthur soon discovered that planning the patrol rota would be a nightmare after Bors' brawl with Lancelot at the tavern.

I was avoiding Bors. Galahad was adamant that he wouldn't be paired up with Gawain; Tristan immediately stated he'd prefer to be alone, but would work alongside the Pup, if forced. We all refused to do anything whatsoever with Lancelot. All this was enough to bring on one of Arthur's headaches, which worsened dramatically when Bors bluntly and shockingly announced he'd _"rather patrol with the Romans" _or he'd_ "end up throttling Lancelot." _Gawain wouldn't be swayed on the matter at all and out of loyalty to me, stated firmly that he would only patrol with me. But it was Tristan's dead-eyed, quiet statement that he _would_ kill Lancelot, which made Arthur ill with fear for his favourite's wellbeing. And I couldn't help loving Tristan a little more when I heard him utter those words.

So, that is how our current patrol pairings worked out. And how Gawain quickly became one of my most loyal and trusted friends.

_**XXXXX**_

Gawain and I had been patrolling away from the fort for the past two days and were trying to make our way home before nightfall. Until that morning, it had been uneventful. That all changed when we were suddenly ambushed by a party of half a dozen rogue Woads. They turned out to be no match for us. Unfortunately, during the skirmish I sustained an injury. But thanks to the adrenaline pumping throughout my body at the time, I didn't become aware of it until later.

As soon as I swung back into Flight's saddle I knew something was wrong. I felt an intense, searing pain in my right flank as my muscles pulled sharply beneath my skin. The green tunic I wore beneath my brown leather surcoat seemed to cling to me. It was a feeling I'd come to know well during my years as a warrior. Cold. Clammy. And wet. The longer we rode for, the worse the pain became and for reasons known only to myself, I was unwilling to share the knowledge of my injury with Gawain. Somehow, I instinctively knew he'd worry about me and blame himself for it, even though he wasn't the one at fault. But that's typical of the man. He always puts others first and has an insatiable need to protect them. His family. His friends. His brethren. And especially his Pup, Galahad.

Somehow, I managed to persuade Gawain to stay with the horses as I went in search of food and water. As soon as he was out of sight, I quickly stripped off my surcoat and tunic and carefully examined my flank. The sight of it made me curse. Viciously. It continued to bleed steadily. Freely. And I could tell the wound was bad. It was long. Deep. And gaping. It would definitely need suturing and one glance at it told me that I'd never be able to do it myself. All I could do was staunch the blood. Bind it. And pray we'd get back swiftly to the garrison, before Gawain found out about it ...

For a brief while it seemed the gods were smiling upon me. I bound the wound securely and returned shortly, carrying the water skins to where I'd left my friend and the horses.

_**XXXXX**_

By late evening, we both realized we'd never make the garrison before dark, so we decided to set up camp in a small clearing in the woods. This time, I remained with the horses as Gawain headed off in search of firewood and to refill our water skins.

In a way, it was a relief that he'd decided to go, as the pain in my flank became far worse. I quickly watered both beasts, unsaddled, rubbed down and tethered them securely before leaving them to graze contentedly. It was still pretty warm and I'd removed my surcoat which had begun to rub directly against the wound. My hand instantly drifted there, to try to ease the pain. The cloth of my green tunic felt damp and as I drew my hand back, I saw to my dismay that my fingers were tinged with scarlet. I knew then, that I was bleeding through the bindings and that I'd have to try to clean the wound without Gawain's knowledge. But until his return, there was nothing I could do. Except wait. And curse my foolishness and that I'd been so careless ...

I reached for my sword and began to diligently clean the long, sharp blade with some oil and a clean cloth, seemingly far away and deep in thought. Suddenly, I heard a slight noise. I lifted my head and saw Gawain standing not far away, watching me with silent concern.

"You're back, brother. Wasn't expecting you so soon ..." He approached quietly, his pace leisurely and dropped the kindling on the ground with a faint smile. He worked silently. Confidently. And it didn't take long for the fire to take hold in the scrape he'd dug and filled with the twigs and branches.

"Is there anything to eat ?" Gawain asked quietly as he sat back on his heels, surveying his work with satisfaction.

I rolled my eyes and reached for the nearest saddlebag with a sigh, muttering, "You and your appetite ... Almost as bad as Bors."

He took the bag from me and I tried to suppress a grimace of pain, which thankfully, he didn't see. I half-heartedly listened to his good-natured banter and allowed it to distract me from the pain. Gawain rooted about in the saddlebag and pulled out the water skins, a flagon of ale, bread, dried meat and apples.

"Will you eat, brother ? You look as if you could use a good meal- "

All I could think of was the cold blood against the jagged edges of fevered skin beneath the saturated tunic and slowly shook my head in refusal. "Maybe later, Gawain ... After I've bathed. But if you wish to eat, I won't stand in your way. Eat, my friend. I won't be long ... " Slowly, I moved away to where my spare bedroll lay on the ground and swore silently as I knelt down to reach for it. Praying all the while that Gawain hadn't picked up on the change in my movements. That I moved slowly. Stiffly. Painfully. I rose hastily and muttered, " I won't be far, brother. Call me if you need me ... "

Painstakingly, I made my way towards the nearby river, all too aware of his confused, yet steady gaze boring into my retreating figure.

_**XXXXX**_

As I stood at the water's edge, I somehow lost track of all time. Daylight was rapidly fading, its waning light dancing and caressing the rapidly flowing water. I stared into the distance. Deep in contemplation. My thoughts on one thing alone. Someone I always mused about at this time of day ... and if I'm honest, was forever in my thoughts, even though I should know better ... Tristan.

Sighing deeply, I cautiously took off my tunic, then slowly - hesitantly - began to unwind the white strips of cloth I'd bound earlier around my waist. The green material clung stubbornly to the wound and I couldn't suppress a low hiss of pain as I tried to peel it away from my skin. It was stained a deep, rich scarlet and the size of the blemish upon the binding was substantial ...

As I felt the blood slowly drain away from my face, I knew I was in trouble. My limbs felt heavy, yet unsteady and my vision started to blur. That's when I became vaguely aware of someone's presence nearby.

"Dag, you fool ... Why didn't you say something ? You should've told me you were injured. That you're in fucking pain. You're a healer, for mercy's sake and you should know better than to hide something like that ! What the hell were you thinking of, man ?" Despite the increasing dizziness I felt, I detected a beneath the anger, a faint trace of concern in Gawain's voice. And I couldn't help feeling guilty.

"I ... I ..." My knees suddenly buckled and gave way. There was nothing I could do to prevent it. All of my strength deserted me. Gave way to lethargy. Weakness. Frailty. Then everything suddenly clouded over and turned pitch black ...

I eventually came around and found myself lying upon the grassy bank. The first thing I saw was Gawain. Pale-faced with worry, running an agitated hand through his unruly mass of tawny hair, his brilliant blue eyes anxious and full of concern. My skin felt cold. Clammy. I took shallow, rapid breaths as he began to swab the wound clean. Despite how light and gentle his touch was, I couldn't help but flinch.

"I ... I'm sorry, Gawain," my hoarse admission startled him. "I didn't think the wound was so bad. I'd hoped ... I'd hoped to be back at the fort before anything like this happened. I didn't want to burden you with this, my friend- " He shook his head in both sorrow and disbelief.

"Dag, you daft git ... You're family. My brother. If you can't impose on a friend at times like this, then ... _Shit !_" Gawain's abrupt exclamation distracted me. I felt him press the binding against the wound in an attempt to staunch the flowing blood. To his dismay, it continued to seep freely through the white cloth, staining his calloused fingers. "We can't stay here. It's far too exposed ..." he muttered, reaching for my bedroll and green tunic. He avoided looking at the wound and eyed me with undisguised concern. "If I help, do you think you can make it back to camp ?"

I gave an imperceptible nod and struggled to my feet. The pain was excruciating and I suddenly closed my eyes. "_Fuck !_" My hand immediately went to my injured flank and covered his. Gawain froze and hesitantly met my curious gaze. Puzzled, by his response, I tilted my head to one side and idly wondered what had made him react that way.

"Gawain- ? " He slid an arm around my waist, carefully propping me against his lean, well-muscled frame and I slumped against him in gratitude, feeling his warm palm press the cloth firmly against the wound. "Sorry ..."

" 'S all right, Dag. I've got you ..." he muttered huskily.

"Gawain ... ?"

"Aye ?"

"Thank you," I murmured drowsily.

Seemingly unfazed, Gawain shrugged his broad shoulders and unusually for him, avoided meeting my eyes before gruffly replying, "Aye ... well ... never mind all that. Best get you back to camp and see to that wound of yours, eh ?"


	3. Chapter 2, pt II

**Disclaimer:** _Still _not mine, despite an obsessional and copious amount of wishing, hoping and praying. Everything recognizable belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer and Touchstone Pictures - godsdammit !

**Warning:** _contains slash and strong language._

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**Chapter II, pt . II**

_**Dagonet's pov:**_

Our camp wasn't far from the river, yet despite Gawain's best efforts, it felt like it had taken us forever to get there. The pain was excruciating and each step pure torture which in turn, caused my breathing to become laboured. Shallow. Once back at the clearing, Gawain immediately sat me down on the dead tree trunk I'd used earlier in the evening. He quickly moved my bedroll closer to the fire, where the light was at its peak, whilst keeping a close eye upon me at all times.

I knew I looked as bad as I felt. And I felt like absolute shit. Feeling suddenly lightheaded, I reached out to brace myself against the trunk. The pain made me grimace. I pressed my tunic against the wound once more and closed my drooping eyelids.

"Dag ... ? Hey ! Don't do anything bloody stupid like die on me, for mercy's sake. Bors will fucking kill me if you do ... He'll have my bloody hide ..." he joked in a vain attempt to distract me from the pain.

I managed what I hoped was a faint smile, but sensed it was more of a twist of my lips, a sneer and slowly opened my eyes.

"Come, brother ... Lets get you to the fire." I felt Gawain wrap an arm around my waist and I slung mine across his broad shoulders, as he carefully led me to where my bedroll lay. As soon as my arse came in contact with the hard ground, I gave a sharp gasp and felt the colour swiftly drain from my face. I saw him wince in sympathy as I began to reluctantly peel the tunic away from my wounded flesh. I had a reputation amongst the Sarmatian knights for having an extremely high pain threshold, but this time my tolerance seemed to be clearly waning. I shivered, inspite of the warmth of the fire and watched him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"I need you to sit up, Dag, with the wound facing the light, so I can see just how bad it is. Can you do that ?" Gawain asked softly.

Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded and shifted gingerly to where he wanted me to sit. The movement caused my breath to hitch. Then I felt his hands upon my skin, carefully inspecting the damage. His calloused fingertips moved confidently, his touch both light and gentle. It raised goosebumps across my flesh.

They say those who heal make the worst patients. And I'm no exception to the rule. I hate being wounded or unwell, as it makes me irritable and virtually impossible to live with or take care of. In simple, layman's terms, I can be a hellishly difficult patient. I'm not meant to be incapacitated. My place is to care for, heal and protect others, not have_ them _nurse and coddle me like a baby.

I was aware that, thanks to my wound, I "wasn't quite all there," as Bors would tactfully put it, but I couldn't help noticing that Gawain seemed distracted and I hoped that I wasn't the cause of it. He was acting strangely and every so often, a fleeting, faraway gleam would appear in his clear, blue eyes. Then just as quickly, it would vanish and he'd apply himself once more to the task at hand. It made me wonder idly, if his unusual behaviour could be blamed on thoughts of his Pup. His beloved Galahad ... Fiery. Impetuous. Irritating. Moody. Lovable, young tyke ...

I felt for Gawain. I knew only too well how badly losing the one you loved felt. And my friend genuinely adored his temperamental, young kinsman. It was plain for all to see. Whereas Gawain was as fair as day - tall, muscular, blue-eyed and tawny maned - his Pup was dark as night, boyishly handsome and athletically built. They made a striking couple and character-wise, complimented each other. Although known for his reputation as a joker, Gawain was the cool, calm one. The one able to soothe and placate the hotheaded, passionate Galahad.

But now thanks to an ill-judged prank devised by my meddling kinsman - my own flesh and blood - Bors and a copious amount of ale, Gawain fell foul of his young lover's formidable temper and sadly, paid the price. And it was the highest price he could've possibly imagined ... the loss of his lover. Galahad, in sheer fury, left him. And to this day, no one knows quite what happened. _If_ Bors knows - and this is highly unusual for him - he's keeping his yap well and truly shut for once.

I watched Gawain steadily. The faraway, brooding look was back in his eyes, tinged with sorrow and bewilderment, which made me ache for him. I could relate to it. I'd been there and it's a fucking godsawful, lonely place to be.

"Is it bad ?" I finally ventured to ask him, hating to interrupt his thoughts, yet loathing the sight of anguish and torment in those bright blue eyes even more.

"Uh ... N-No. It's not as bad as I thought it was, thank gods ..." Gawain replied huskily and reached for the fresh water skin and the large saddlebag which held my herbal remedies. He rooted inside the bag and pulled out some witch hazel and elder leaves which he quickly diluted with the water, then carefully swabbed the wound clean before looking me straight in the eye and asking solemnly, "D'ya trust me, Dag ?"

The question, if I'm honest, mystified me and my brow furrowed in confusion. "W-Why ... ?" In my mind the answer was a foregone conclusion. It was a question that never should have been asked in the first place. "You should know by now, Gawain, that I trust you with my life. I trust your judgement. I believe in you. There's no reason for me to doubt you. Do whatever you think is right. For as long as I've known you, your decisions have always been sound and I know you'll do the right thing. I've faith in you ..."

"Well ... I've cleaned it as best as I can. But the wound's deep. It'll need stitching. D'ya trust me to do it ? Or would you rather I put a poultice of comfrey and yarrow on it and let the fort's healers sort it out ?"

By now, all I could think of was getting some rest and to be free of pain. I just wanted it over with - fast. I was weary, yet Gawain's - who was normally so confident, so assured - reluctance, his hesitancy, had somehow piqued my curiosity.

"Do it. I trust you ..." I replied softly. "Just ... Can we just get this over with ? I'm dog-tired ..." Gawain silently complied and reached into the saddlebag once more for my suturing kit.

_**XXXXX**_

Afterwards, once I'd managed to eat a little _and_ keep it down, Gawain made me rest a while. But not before "persuading" me that I should take something for the pain. I should've realized as soon as I'd become aware of the gleam of mischief in his eyes that he was up to something. And the huge smirk on his attractive face should've been a dead give-away.

"Bastard ..." I muttered half-heartedly with a wry grimace. I hurriedly wiped away all trace of the liquid from my lips with the back of my hand and glowered at him. Gawain simply grinned and passed me a water skin. I uncorked it and drank thirstily. Eager to rid myself of the vile taste which soured my mouth. Once I'd drunk my fill, I handed him the skin and sat beside him, gazing into the flames in quiet contemplation. It was a comfortable, companionable silence. I'd always felt at ease with Gawain and I enjoyed his company. He was a good man. An honorable man. A loyal one. And I was fortunate to have him as my friend. As my brother ...

"You miss him, don't you ? Your Pup ..." I asked quietly, as I allowed the yellow, orange and red flames to mesmerize me. I heard him sigh deeply.

"He no longer wishes to be _my_ Pup ... The Whelp turned on me and showed its teeth. I know I made a mistake, Dag. A fucking big mistake which I regret more than anything. But your cousin didn't help matters and he was the root behind this evil. It was his idea about the damn kilt in the first place. _Not_ mine. Yet I'm the one who's paying the price now ... I'm the one who's alone ... Who's lost his lover ..."

I rested my hand upon his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry, Gawain. I know how much Galahad means to you ... How badly it hurts to lose the one who _is_ your world. Your life ... If I'd known what Bors was planning, I'd have knocked some sense into that daft skull of his ..."

He slowly turned his tawny head and steadily met my gaze with sorrowful blue eyes and admitted quietly, " 'S not your fault, Dag. I brought this on myself when I stupidly listened to Bors. There's no one to blame but me ..."

My hand remained upon his shoulder and I absently brushed the bare skin at the hollow of his throat with the ball of my thumb as I continued to stare at the flickering, crackling tongues of fire. His breath abruptly hitched.

"Er ... What about you ... ? I mean, how've you been able to cope without _him_ for so long ... ? If I were in your position, I'd be insane by now."

_Him_. That's how Gawain and the rest of my kin always carefully referred to my former love in my presence. Never by name. Never as Tristan. Only as "the Scout" - or as I'd once accidentally heard Bors refer to as that "no-good, underhanded Aorsi bastard" - or simply, plain "_him._" It was as if they all believed the mere sound of his name would tear me apart. Would cause me insurmountable pain. Would shatter my already broken heart into pieces. Pieces which would and could never be healed.

I tore my eyes from the flames to meet his and sighed heavily. An overwhelming surge of loneliness, pain and sadness struck me as viciously as a blade to the gut.

"_Coping ? _I'm not coping, Gawain. I'm barely able to keep my head above water, for mercy's sake ... Unless I take things slowly day by day, I struggle to get by. It's been six, long godsforsaken months and I _still_ love and want him ... Not a day goes by that I don't miss and think about him ... And the ache's still there. It still hurts. Tristan will _always_ be the thorn within me and no matter now hard I try, I don't think I'll ever forget him or love anyone else as deeply or as passionately ..." My voice suddenly broke. "_He_ owns me, Gawain. Heart. Body. And soul. Whether he realizes it or not ..."

He silently drew me to him and rested his forehead lightly against mine in a gesture of comfort.

"The bastard damn near broke me, Gawain and he has no fucking clue that he did ..." A tremor racked through my tense body. "He has no idea what a fucking mess - what a liability - I've become ... "

He must have heard the dejection in my voice, for he pulled back slightly. Then his gaze suddenly fell upon my forearms. He inhaled sharply. I glanced down and panicking, cursed myself. I'd fucked up. Seriously fucked up. Just by forgetting one small detail. Without thinking, I'd taken off my vambraces and left the scars of my shame ... the marks of my weakness - my frailty - in full view. And now, someone other than Bors and myself knew of my dishonour ... My failure ...

I was acutely aware of the horror - the pity - that my friend couldn't quite conceal from his kindly, cobalt eyes. He grasped my right arm in a firm, yet gentle hold and lightly traced the longest and deepest scar with his forefinger. I trembled at his touch.

"Dag ... ? What the fuck are these ?"

Fearful and full of shame, I tried to pull away, but Gawain's grip tightened upon my wrists. Refusing to release me. To let me hide from him. "D-Don't, Gawain ... Leave them be. Please ... ?"

"Please tell me you didn't, Dag ... That you're not responsible for these ... That you didn't try to kill yourself. Please ..." Gawain pleaded huskily.

I remained mute. Obstinately so. But there was no need for words. Not when my guilt-filled eyes spoke volumes.

"_Fuck ! _Dagonet, how _could_ you ? How could _you_ ... ?" He never gave me an opportunity to explain why, or deny what I'd done. I felt Gawain's warm palm come to rest on the side of my neck, just below my ear. His thumb idly brushed my stubbled cheek.

"You stupid, fucking bastard !" he whispered, inching closer to me, closing the gap between us. "D'ya realize I _could've_ lost you ? You're my best friend. My brother. The thought of losing you just fucking kills me ..."

And the next thing I knew - before I could even react - Gawain's lips claimed mine ...


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** _Still_ not mine, despite an obsessional, copious amount of wishing, hoping and praying. Everything recognizable belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer and Touchstone Pictures - godsdammit !

**Warning:** _contains slash and strong language._

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**Chapter III **

_**Dagonet's pov:**_

I froze. Literally and figuratively. I couldn't help it. Gawain's reaction to my attempt to take my own life had been unexpected. Shocking. And bewildering. And even though Tristan was no longer mine, I felt as if I were betraying him as soon as Gawain's lips touched mine.

At first, I became rigid with tension. The paralysis I felt was instantaneous and for a brief moment I couldn't, for the life of me, break free ... Then, in my mind's eye, I saw a sudden image of Tristan. His lean, handsome face pale and impassive and his arresting golden eyes sorrowful and anguished.

I swear I _had_ every intention of resisting Gawain's advances and for an instant, I did. But Gawain wouldn't be denied. His kiss was so unlike Tristan's, which was like a force of nature. Wild, passionate and all-consuming. Gawain's resembled the man himself. Teasing. Playful. Compelling. And, to my astonishment, addictive.

The pressure of Gawain's firm lips on mine increased. He seemed determined to coax a reaction from me. And I was beginning to find him hard to resist. Another image of Tristan flickered before my eyes. Only this time, it was one of him in_ his _- that godsdamn arrogant, Iazyges bastard's - embrace. And they were kissing. Fervently. And that's when I sadly realized, that I didn't owe Tristan anything. Not my loyalty. My body. My heart. Nothing. It was an epiphany. Tristan _wasn't_ mine. He was a free spirit. Like his beloved hawk, he could never be tamed ... Yet I still wanted him. Still loved him. Desperately. But I was a free man. At liberty to do exactly what I pleased. When I pleased. And with whom I wanted ... And right now ? It felt so good to be held once more. To be shown that someone actually seemed to genuinely care for me. Wanted me.

With a low groan, I yielded and hesitantly parted my lips. Granting him full access to what he obviously sought. Gawain plundered my mouth. His tongue probed gently, yet hungrily. Meeting and twining passionately with mine. Playfully tormenting. I gave a soft moan and found myself chasing his tongue with mine as it teased me. Seduced me. Tempted and beguiled me. I felt him lightly bite and suck at my tongue, and for the first time in months - ever since I'd parted ways with my beloved Scout - I felt something. Something other than loneliness. Desolation and despair.

I felt desire. Lust began to flicker deep within my loins. A white heat coursed through me. And surprizingly, I found myself hardening. Painfully and uncontrollably so. And my brother - my friend - was the cause of it all.

Gawain leant forward slightly. Deepening the kiss, if it were at all possible. My eyelids became heavy and enslaved by the sensations created by his touch, I closed my eyes and savoured what he made me feel. I gasped, then felt him abruptly pull away. His withdrawal made me shiver and I missed the heat of his strong, powerful body. I shifted slightly and felt a dull ache of pain in my flank.

"Gawain ... ?" My voice was thick with need. And desire.

"Aye, Dag ... ?" Gawain replied softly. There was a hint of wariness, of caution, in his warm, husky voice that puzzled me.

"Do you mind coming closer ? I'm still a bit cold ... " My voice tailed off as I felt the heat of his lean, strapping frame once more envelop mine. He wrapped his strong arms around me, drawing me close. Cushioning and protecting my battered, injured body from the cold, hard earth. I relaxed and fell instantly asleep to the soothing sound of his steady, throbbing heartbeat and the reassuring warmth of his lithe body.

_**XXXXX**_

I woke up alone. Painfully stiff thanks to the hard ground beneath me, despite the added warmth and protection of Gawain's bedroll. I was also hungry and extremely confused.

Other than the Scout, Gawain had been the only man I'd shared a bedroll with. And I'd slept well in his arms. Soundly. Deeply. And without nightmares. I'd felt safe with him. Calm and at ease. But now, on my own, in the cold light of day, I was thrown off balance by what we had shared the night before. Bewildered by the sudden and unexpected intimacy which had flared up between us. I was at a loss that my best friend had kissed me and that I'd kissed him back. Eagerly. And willingly. I'd enjoyed it. Had found pleasure in the feel of Gawain's lips upon mine and savoured the taste of him. Had liked it. More than I'd ever thought possible.

The taste of him had been quite unlike Tristan, who always reminded me of an intensely dark and heady wine with an underlying note of juicy, red apples. Gawain was sunshine and light. Sweet and intoxicating, like the finest mead. And once sampled, never forgotten.

I lightly ran the calloused tips of my fingers across my lips, as I recalled the memory of that single, potent kiss. With a low moan, I closed my eyes and relived the feel of Gawain's firm, luscious lips sensually caressing mine. The way his tongue, skilfully and talentedly played and massaged mine as he enticed and led me into temptation. That thought alone had my affection-starved body clenching with need. An inexplicable hunger that was impossible to deny. And I found myself looking forward to his return. Eagerly awaiting him, full of anticipation that was tinged with trepidation ...

I was distracted from my musings by Gawain's arrival and I couldn't help smiling when he presented me with the fish, which he swiftly spit for roasting. His long, tawny mane had darkened considerably having been in the water and I couldn't help noting how his tunic clung damply to his muscular torso. Swallowing hard, I averted my gaze and felt my cheeks begin to burn.

An overwhelming shyness struck me and although there was plenty I wanted to say to him ... to ask Gawain, I couldn't. I was tongue-tied. Nervous. And scared by how he'd react. What he'd say. So, I bit my lip and said nothing.

We ate in comparative silence. Neither of us spoke. Not knowing what to say to each other, the atmosphere was strained and not the comfortable ease I usually felt in his presence. In fact, it came as a relief to finally pack up camp and return to the garrison. And throughout the entire journey back, I couldn't help being aware of his steady, brooding gaze fixed upon my back.

_**XXXXX**_

As soon as Jols noticed our arrival at the stables, he sent one of his lads immediately to the tavern, to inform my kinsman of our return.

Bors descended upon me like a wrathful inish. Cursing up a storm in rapid-fire, furious Sarmatian. He swiftly rounded me up and despite Gawain's assurances, hauled me to the valetudinarium for a quick once over. Thankfully, the physician's managed to reassure him that Gawain had done a fine job in patching me up and that the chances of infection were minimal. Bors finally calmed down once he'd got me settled in one of the tavern chambers, and since then, he's been fussing over me like a demented mother hen.

_**XXXXX**_

I've been under Van's care and Bors' tender mercies now for little over a week.

The only good that's come from being wounded is that I've been pulled off patrol duty until further notice. Bors has been keeping me regularly informed of what's been going on. But it doesn't prevent me from going slowly mad as I'm incarcerated to my sickbed. I keep telling them that I'm well and ready to return to my duties, but my wishes are being persistently ignored.

Inspite of Vanora's kindness and the constant visits of the little bastards, which do help while away the time and make me smile, the days are interminably long. I live for Bors' daily visits, where he brings me my evening meal. We eat together and he relays his daily report. How the other are and what they've been doing since I've been exiled to my bed. He tells me that Gawain's been pulled off patrol as well. That the Pup, much to his annoyance, and Tristan have been pulling double shifts ever since Gawain and I returned home. He also informs me of the Whelp's fury, after Bors' suggestion how to tempt Arthur into reducing his patrols just by flashing a little more thigh. That genuinely makes me laugh and in turn, makes my cousin happy.

But the nights are the worst. When I'm alone with only my thoughts for company. During all this time, since our return, I haven't seen hide nor hair of Gawain. And I miss him. Greatly. I yearn for his company. To hear the deep growl of his voice and his carefree laugh of genuine amusement. All in all, I miss our easy friendship. I miss_ him ..._ Gawain.

I want to see him, yet I fear that what we need to discuss - the kiss - _has _come between us. Has ruined something I value greatly. Something so dear. So precious. Our kinship. And I'd hate to lose it. That's the only reason I can think of that's keeping him away from me. That he regrets that brief moment of intense pleasure that we shared. And now that he can no longer bear to be in my company. That he cannot face me ... and that grieves me. Deeply.

_**XXXXX**_

Like I said, the nights are the worst. Where I once imagined dark, braided hair, tattooed cheekbones and striking golden eyes, I've now taken to dreaming of a wild, tawny, lion-like mane, a strong, lean body and mischievous, dancing blue eyes that are full of warmth and humour. I dream of him. Sometimes, the dreams are so vivid, so real, that I can feel Gawain's powerful body wrapped around mine. The strength and heat of him. The way his breath gently caressed my sensitive skin. And the attractive, musky scent that's purely Gawain.

But as the days go by, the dreams have changed. Markedly so. We still lie together. Only unclothed. Bare, naked flesh pressed close together. Sinewy limbs entwined passionately as we give in to what we want. What we desire ... Each other.

I can almost taste Gawain's mouth as he devours mine; his strong thighs wrap around mine possessively and his hips surge upwards, desperate for some kind of friction as he rubs his painfully hard erection against mine. I hear him plead, softly to begin with, begging me for release ... craving to feel my calloused palm wrapped around his thick, granite-like length encased in warm silk ...

And that's when I wake up. Disappointed. Frustrated. Irritable. And above all, very much alone.

There's no Gawain lying beside me, laughing softly as he traces soft butterfly kisses across my naked shoulders, his fair, neatly trimmed beard brushing against my resposive skin. I am indeed alone. Full of want and intense need. Feeling so aroused, in such agonizing need of release that I have to take myself in hand. To relieve myself. Knowing that only the person responsible for my current predicament - my hunger - can fully sate my needs ...

I slowly drag my hand down my bare torso, beneath the furs which cover my lower body, towards my loins. The fiery hunger I have for Gawain blazes uncontrollably within me. I curl my fingers around my swollen, painful shaft and moan softly with need. How I came to crave Gawain so much ... to want and need his touch so badly, I'll never know. But I do. I can't help it. I long for him and whatever thoughts I had for my beloved Scout - my Tristan - are forgotten as I'm caught up in the moment.

I feel dizzy with need. Lightheaded. All I want right now, is release as the throbbing ache I feel in my member almost blinds me ... I stroke myself firmly ... roughly ... hissing sharply at the first initial contact with my tender flesh. The hiss soon turns into a groan of pure pleasure, then into a continuous stream of low, husky moans as I quickly caress, tug and tease my aching member to completion. Then, mercifully, it happens. My thighs begin to tremble and the fire I'd felt, deep within my loins burns fiercely. Like an inferno. It overwhelms me. Engulfs me. And I'm lost to its heat. Its mercy. I feel my balls draw up and constrict and I come violently. Liberally. Crying wordlessly.

Afterwards, I slump weakly against my pillows. I feel drained. Physically. Mentally. And emotionally. I don't care that my belly is covered with my seed. That it's left a sticky mess upon the bedclothes. I'm far too weary. The only thought I have in my head - my dearest wish - is that things haven't become too fucked up and that I've lost my friend for good. That we _will_ be able to talk and hopefully, sort things out.

And the last thing I do before I fall asleep, is pray earnestly to the gods, that tomorrow_ will _be the day that Gawain finally relents ... That it _will_ be the day that he comes to see me ...


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** _Still_ not mine, despite an obsessional, copious amount of wishing, hoping and praying. Everything recognizable belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer and Touchstone Pictures - godsdammit !

**Warning:** _contains slash and strong language._

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**Chapter IV**

**Gawain's pov:**

I was abruptly roused from sleep by an unexpected sensation. Of warmth seeping through my tunic and leathers until I was cloaked by it, along with the feeling of comfort and security. Startled, I opened my bleary eyes and tried to focus on the heat source only to be quickly thrown by its identity. By my side, covered by a large bedroll, lay a huge mound. It shifted slightly. I heard a muffled grunt. It was followed by some inaudible mumbling, then a thick forearm came to rest heavily across my waist.

Shit ! Dagonet ...

Mind reeling, I immediately tensed. What the fuck ... ? How the hell had this happened ? It made no sense ... Gods ! Dag was my comrade. My best friend. We were brothers-in arms ... and now, literally, I appeared to be just that as the big man siddled closer to me beneath the bedroll, seeking warmth. I swallowed hard. All of a sudden, last night's events drifted back into my sleep-addled memory. Of how Dag clearly hadn't been himself. The shocking discovery of a severe injury which he'd sought to conceal from me. The simple meal we'd shared in companionable silence, followed by shared confidences ... how we'd aired our grievances about the ones we loved. My impetuous, bloody-minded, fiery Whelp, Galahad. His mercurial, aloof, cheating Scout. His Tristan. And worst of all, a revelation which had rocked me to my core ... another thing Dag had kept hidden from me for so many months. A secret he would've taken with him to his grave, if I hadn't found out by accident after he'd unwittingly dropped his guard ... His attempt to take his own life.

I knew Dag had been grievously hurt by that damn fool Aorsi lover of his, but not once had I dreamt his pain would lead him to do something so drastic ... so desperate. To attempt something so final ... something which could never be rectified. The thought of losing my best friend was overwhelming and extremely distressing. That I could've lost him so easily, had Tristan not followed his nagging gut and tracked him down with barely moments to spare, was hellish to imagine. And in my horror, disbelief, shock and anger, I did something stupid. So out of character. I kissed him.

_I kissed Dagonet._

I swear to gods, it was a knee jerk reaction. A heat of the moment thing. A reaction borne of receiving shocking tidings when I wasn't thinking clearly. But it _was_ a reaction all the same. All I could think of at the time was "what if ... ?" What if Tristan hadn't got caught with Lancelot, the garrison's whore's tongue shoved deeply down his throat ? What if Dag had managed to sneak away without our stablemaster, Jols' knowledge ? What if Tristan had ignored that incessant nagging in his gut, that he hadn't given a damn or cared enough to search for Dag ? And worst of all, what if Dag's attempt had succeeded ? That he'd been sober or just lucky enough to strike the right artery or vein and bled out ? Alone and consumed by pain, shock, humiliation and betrayal. What then ... ?

But Tristan _had_ been caught, by Dag himself and that swiftly triggered a chain of events which were relentless ... and unavoidable. If it had been anyone else ... anyone other than Lancelot, Dagonet would've let the incident pass. Would've forgiven Tris. But Lancelot had and continues to have the morals of a tomcat and cares naught of the feelings of others. Of the pain, anguish, hurt and betrayal he makes them feel in the wake of his trail of destruction. All he cares for is his own self-gratification. His needs. His wants. And to hell with everyone else. It was sheer good luck that Jols happened across Dagonet at the stables, hastily saddling his destrier, Flight ... and a blessing that he had the sense to inform Tristan - against Dag's wishes - the direction Dagonet had taken as he fled. And I'm grateful, despite the ill will which parted them, that Tristan chose to follow his heart and seek out our beloved Healer. But most of all, I thank gods that Dag's attempt failed ... that he's still with us, for the world would be a far poorer and darker place without our gentle giant.

I couldn't help but recall the kiss. It was sheer folly on my part. Impetuous and foolhardy. I'd acted purely on instinct. Without thought or care about any consequences. Yet that's part of who and what I am. How I react when I'm upset or stressed. I wear my heart on my sleeve and don't give a shit about what others may think of it. I've always believed that feelings should be expressed, that bottling them up only does more harm than good ... even if it does get me into a lot of strife most days !

At the time, I had no regrets. No thought or care for anyone except the broken man I'd held in my arms and the constant nagging in my head to reassure myself that I hadn't lost him. That he was still with me ... That he still lived. I swear I had no ulterior motive when I claimed Dag's sensuous lips. At first, the kiss on my part was purely to set my mind at rest, but also in some small way to comfort Dagonet ... to somehow, in some daft way, prove to him that he was cared for. That he _was_ loved. His initial reaction was one of shock. His strapping frame immediately tensed, then when I least expected it he slowly relaxed. His breath hitched faintly then, to my astonishment, his lips softened beneath mine and he yielded. Warily, Dag began to respond, returning the kiss with a hesitant yearning and sweetness that was heartbreakingly tender and full of affection.

I never meant to take advantage of the situation or my brother, but as soon as I felt him regain confidence and respond willingly, I was unable to stop myself from increasing the pressure of my lips upon his. The kiss changed from light, playful and teasing to something much more. I suddenly wanted more from Dag. Was determined to coax a reaction from him. To have him submit to me ... To allow me to comfort him and for him to give me solace as well. I craved it almost as badly as the air I breathed.

Dag reacted positively to the change. With a low groan, he parted his lips, granting me full access to what I sought. I plundered his mouth. Probing every inch of that heated, wet cavern with a gentle hunger which surprized me. His tongue met and twined with mine, playfully. Passionately. Teasingly. And for two people who'd been starved of affection, who actually bloody needed it - well, I don't know about Dag, but I wasn't about to deny it - it felt so fucking good. So right that it was almost perfect ...

I leant forward and deepened the kiss. Then, Dag suddenly gasped. I immediately pulled away, thinking I must've accidentally brushed against or inadvertently come into contact with his wound. I looked at him and saw that he had his eyes closed. A faint blush stained his high cheekbones and his lips ... Those talented, sweetly seductive lips of his were redder and kiss-swollen. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Striking silver, lust-blown orbs instantly collided with my equally covetous, needy blue.

"Gawain ... ?" Dag's husky growl sounded thicker and deeper than usual to my sensitive ears.

"Aye, Dag ... ?" I replied warily, dreading the possibility that he regretted what had just happened between us.

"Do you mind coming closer ? I'm still a bit cold ..." His voice tailed away, sounding unusually vulnerable and suddenly quite drowsy. I gave a slight grin and closed the gap between us, wrapping my arms around him. I drew him close, making sure that he was protected and cushioned form the cold, unyielding earth. I felt the tension ease away from him and before I knew it, Dag fell instantly asleep.

_**XXXXX**_

Like I said, I awoke abruptly and felt disorientated. The last thing I ever expected was to wake up partially cloaked by the slumbering form of our tall, sinewy, ruggedly attractive Roxolani Healer. And to make things worse, I was assaulted by guilt and panic, two things which are _never_ good bedfellows to have. Guilt for making a move on and planting that kiss on my best friend when he was clearly vulnerable and upset ... and remorse for betraying my beloved Galahad's trust, even though we were no longer together. And that feeling of regret was further enhanced by the sheer panic I felt should either Tristan, who I firmly believe _still _loves Dag deeply, or Gal ever got wind of my newfound feelings for and attraction to Dagonet. For deep in my heart, I know neither of them would be happy about or condone the possibility of Dag and myself becoming lovers ... In fact, if anything, no matter how tempting, how beguiling the thought of our relationship becoming more intimate was, it was still forbidden fruit. One that would easily become a mare's nest if it ever came to pass ...

As I considered that last thought, I was struck by another fear. What if we'd done more than kiss ? Had I taken advantage of my brother ? I surreptitiously slid a hand beneath the bedroll and groaned inwardly as I accidentally brushed against the throbbing hardness that was barely contained by my leathers. Thankfully, as I hastily withdrew my hand, I felt a huge sense of relief as I realized my leathers' laces still remained intact ... Mercifully, it meant I didn't have to worry about a wrathful Scout using me as target practice for his numerous, yet lethal blades for a while at least ... or my equally vindictive, fiery, former shieldmate and lover hellbent on making me suffer for betraying him. And despite the fact that Gal was the one to break up with and no longer wanted me, I knew my possessive Whelp _still_ considered me to be his and that he'd be far from happy if I got close to anyone else. Not that I was planning to do that any time soon ...

Yet this sudden attraction and unexpected pull I felt towards Dag was proving to be a massive challenge to my good intentions. A temptation that was going to be really hard to resist. I closed my eyes briefly and bit back a groan. I felt an overwhelming need to put distance between myself and my innocently slumbering brother. An urge to keep him at arm's length in order to prevent myself from doing something rash or godsforbid, stupid ... something I'd unwittingly excelled at of late.

Cautiously, I eased away from Dag and once free from his reach, began to silently increase the gap between us. I _needed_ to be alone. Needed time to think and to get my head straight. To rid myself of this insane notion that I wanted someone other than Galahad ... Someone I'd always regarded as a friend and my brother ... Someone I was now inexplicably drawn to and unexpectedly craved. Desired ... Someone that it would be sheer folly to become involved with ... no matter how lonely we both were. Or how unloved we both felt.

Biting my lip, I scrambled to my feet and hastily tugged on my boots. A deep rumble in my belly suddenly reminded me how hungry I was and that we both needed to eat. And with that thought in mind, I grabbed my hunting knives and set off towards the river.

_**XXXXX**_

When I got back to camp, I found Dagonet staring pensively into the distance. Seemingly lost in thought. He must've suddenly sensed my presence as his head swiftly jerked upwards and his cool, silver gaze shyly met mine. A slight, sweet smile curved his lips when he looked down and caught sight of the fruits of my labours, a couple of fish freshly caught which I quickly spit for roasting on the fire. Then his eyes flickered away only to fall upon me. They slowly roamed across my body, taking in every detail. Of how my long, tawny mane had darkened noticably since I'd been in the water and the way my tunic and leathers clung damply to me, accentuating every line, curve and sinew.

Dagonet suddenly averted his gaze and I saw a faint stain of colour highlighting his cheekbones. He began to worry his lower lip and appeared ill at ease. Neither of us spoke and when it was time to eat we ate in silence. Only it wasn't the affable silence of the night before. It was strained. For the first time, there was tension between us ... one borne, on my part at least, out of need, want and desire. In the end, I was relieved when it was time for us to de-camp and return to the garrison and I made a damn point of ensuring that on our journey back, that I was the one who rode on point ... purely so that I had a legitimate excuse to keep an eye on my wounded brother.

_**XXXXX**_

The moment we entered the stable compound, Jols swiftly sent word to the tavern to inform our brethren of our return. Under normal circumstances, I would've found the suddeness of Bors' breathless arrival highly amusing. But these weren't normal circumstances. And our fort's gobby, prize fighter was as incensed as a rabid cur. His appearance was abruptly announced by a thunderous tempest of curses in rapid-fire, infuriated Sarmatian. To say he was pissed off or fit to be tied was surely an understatement ... though it was understandable really for him to be so distressed, considering Dag was probably his only living blood kin from the old country.

Bors swiftly tore a strip off his younger cousin and despite my assurances, immediately hauled our poor, unfortunate Healer off to the valetudinarium for "some _proper_ attention." And as they left, I couldn't help feeling a twinge of pity for Dag, as his elder kinsman loudly proclaimed that Dagonet would be staying at the tavern until further notice, to ensure he _didn't_ end up in any more strife.

It looked as if Dag, as far as the over-protective, older Roxolani was concerned, was strictly under house arrest with no hope of reprieve any time soon. Poor bugger ...


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **_Still_ not mine, despite an obsessional, copious amount of wishing, hoping and praying. Everything recognizable belongs Jerry Bruckheimer and Touchstone Pictures - godsdammit !

**Warning: **_contains slash and strong language._

**_XXXXXXXXX_**

**Chapter V**

_**Dagonet's pov:**_

By the gods, I can't believe it ... I'm a free man.

Well, when I say "free," I may be exaggerating slightly. I meant I was free from all well-meaning interference and coddling. Having my kinsman, Bors, for a cousin is like a double-edged sword, for it's a blessing and a curse. I love my kin dearly. They are good, honest, kindly folk. The salt of the earth, some might say. But after days cooped up in my sickbed, I began to find Bors' company tiring. And stifling. Especially when he behaves like a demented mother hen.

And I had other, more important, things on my mind. Or rather someone. Gawain.

Over a week has passed since our return to the fort and during that space of time I haven't seen hide nor hair of my friend. Eight slow, lengthy, godsforsaken days. Or one hundred and ninety two hours since we last spoke ... Since we'd shared_ that _kiss.

I miss him. Greatly. And I feared the kiss had come between us. Shattered our friendship. That Gawain was avoiding me because of it. That he hated me for it and couldn't bear to be anywhere near me. And the thought that I'd lost him was fucking unbearable. It hurt like hell.

I'm Gawain's elder by two years. We've known each other for the best part of almost fourteen years and have been firm friends for most of that time. But I really came to value his friendship over the past six months or so, especially after what had passed between me and Tristan. I began to appreciate him as a person. My kinsman. My brother. My friend ...

We became close. We understood each other. Even more so, after the Whelp rejected him. And we naturally gravitated towards each other because we were lonely and in pain.

But now, I'm genuinely bewildered by his absence. The loss of my constant and most loyal companion hurts. Deeply. And I'd give anything for a chance to talk to him. To make things right between us once more. Because not having Gawain in my life is out of the question. It would be like the world without sunshine. Dark. Cold. Bleak. Barren and empty. And I need him. Simply because he brightens up what could only be seen otherwise as a dark and miserable life.

It must be that bloody kiss that's making him stay away. It_ has _to be. That playful, seductive, lingering, toe-curlingly addictive kiss that sent a searing, white heat straight to my loins ... A kiss which left me painfully hard for days and one which I'm still unable to forget to this day. I can't help reliving it. I can almost feel the pressure of Gawain's mouth upon mine. Skilfully coaxing a response from me. I can taste the honeyed sweetness of his persuasive lips. The sensation of his tongue teasing, tormenting and entwining possessively around mine. Even now, the need for him burns fiercely within me and makes me so fucking dizzy with want. And desire ... And all I can think of is how good it would be to experience that again. To be able to feel once more. For him to release the passion within me as he did that night.

Deep in my heart, I know it'll never happen. No matter how much I long for it. How deeply I yearn for his touch. But I can't get this damned thought out of my head. This inexplicable craving I have for Gawain. I want him and it's driving me insane knowing that I cannot have him. That I'll _never_ have him. Because he clearly regrets what passed between us. And now, thanks to his elusiveness, I'm paying the price for it. Gods ! How I miss him ...

Yet ... he _must _be feeling the same confusion as I do, mustn't he ? Because I sure as hell don't know what's happening ... what's going on between us. I mean, Gawain was the one who kissed me and I know I kissed him back, because it felt so good. So right. And if I'm honest, because _I_ fucking wanted to. But now ? Now I haven't a fucking clue why things have become like this between us. Why I constantly keep thinking about him. Why my body feels on fire every single fucking time I imagine his bare skin pressing urgently as he writhes against me ...

What really confused me is what Esyllt, my niece, told me yesterday when she brought me supper. That she'd come across Gawain one evening, skulking opposite the tavern gazing up at my chamber window and that he'd been acting oddly. Pale-faced, he seemed badly shaken by something. Right to his very core. Bewildered, she'd said, and somehow, lost. And knowing how badly I'd longed for his company, she had tried to persuade him to come in. Tried to coax him to see me. But Gawain had just looked at her blankly. Mute, he just nodded hastily before pushing abruptly past her. Fleeing towards the knights' quarters as if the hounds of hell were chasing him.

And since then, he's been nowhere near the place and that only re-enforces what I already know, to my deepest sorrow ... that he's definitely avoiding me and no longer desires my friendship nor my company ...

_**XXXXX**_

Even now, I'm still not sure how it happened, yet I'm glad it did. All I know is that _he_ must've had something to do with it. Had to have pulled a few strings somehow, for this to have happened. Not that it matters, but I am truly grateful for what passed ... even if it was only to save my sanity and prevent me from killing Bors ! It just feels so good to be back in the saddle again. To feel warm sunshine upon my skin. And for the life of me, I can't hide the smile of pure joy and relief that spreads across my face.

Earlier this morning, Vanora rushed into my chamber with news from Arthur. At long last, the physician had finally come to the decision I was fit enough to return to light duties. I was to start immediately and meet _him _in the stables. I didn't need to be told twice and I honestly don't think I've got my weapons and bedrolls ready so quickly in my life.

_FLASHBACK_

I reached the stables to find Gawain quietly leading Flight and his own grey gelding, Nix, out of their stalls. Both horses had been watered, groomed and saddled, his own mount laden with bedrolls, saddlebags and weapons.

Bors was already there, far from pleased with what he saw and Gawain was struggling to hold his tongue. As soon as my cousin laid eyes on me, he began to protest vehemently. Claiming I was unfit to leave the garrison. That I needed more time to rest and recuperate. That I simply wasn't ready and it was far too early to send me out on patrol. I would've said something to him, but Gawain merely took my belongings from me and carefully attached them to my saddle before silently handing Flight's reins to me. His manner was strangely elusive and he quickly avoided meeting my gaze. I yearned for any physical contact with him ... Even to feel his calloused fingers graze the back of my hand as I took the reins from him, but to my dismay, it wasn't to be. He quickly stepped back out of my reach and with a sigh, I sadly swung myself into the saddle. As soon as Bors noticed I was ready to leave, he attempted to lay down the law.

"_Oi ! _What the bloody hell d'ya think you're doing on top o' that beast ? You _should_ be on light compound duties- "

"Have you been laid up lately ?" I rasped a reply, raising an enquiring eyebrow, knowing full well he'd been lucky over the past few months when it came to injuries. "I've been slowly going mad being cooped up for ages, Bors, waiting for someone to visit to break up the day. It's not good for me. I _need_ to be outside. Besides, Flight needs the exercise- "

"Bollocks ! You need to get your arse off that nag and if you won't rest, ask for something to do at the valetudinarium."

I heard an impatient sigh to the left of me, followed by the soft growl of Gawain's voice. Whether it was wishful thinking on my part or not, but I could've sworn I detected a hint of possessiveness in its tone.

"He's coming with me," Gawain leant forward in his saddle to gently stroke the pale gelding's neck. "You heard the man, Bors. He'll be fine ... It's something Dag needs and wants to do. Not sit on his arse all day being bored shitless. Not doing anything's clearly killing him. The physician's passed him fit to resume his duties and Arthur wants us both back on patrol. If you've a problem with that decision, then take it up with Arthur !"

Giving a heavy sigh of defeat, Bors looked far from happy. He wearily rubbed his nape and muttered, "Aye ... Well, just keep an eye on him and don't let him do anything stupid. Watch Dag's back and make fucking sure that he stays out of trouble. Right ? And if _anything_ - and I _mean_ anything - happens to our Dag, you daft Halani bastard, don't fucking bother coming back 'cos I'll fucking kill you. I'll have your bloody hide. Got that ?"

Gawain merely shrugged his broad shoulders, his cobalt eyes returning Bors' fierce glare head on as he replied mildly, "I'm not afraid of you, Bors. Don't make the mistake of believing that I am. Dag's family and I'd willingly give my life if it ensured his safety ..."

Before my cousin could make any further comment, Gawain gently dug his heels into the gelding's sleek flanks and began to head for the stable door. Not bothering to look back, he yelled, "Dagonet ! You coming ? Before your gobby cousin actually makes me want to kill something ... or_ someone _..."

I took one look at Bors' outraged expression and smirked. For once, my outspoken, volatile kinsman was genuinely lost for words and wisely, I took the opportunity to follow Gawain, before Bors regained the use of his brain _and_ tongue.

_END OF FLASHBACK_

It was a fine day. Warm and dry. And after over a week of being confined on my own in a tiny chamber - "resting" - I was determined to relish every single moment of my unexpected freedom and the pleasure of Gawain's company. I still couldn't believe that I was finally outside and free of my cousin's well-meaning overprotectiveness. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, I finally relaxed in the saddle and smiled once more.

After leaving the fort, Gawain spoke briefly to say Arthur had chosen our route specifically. Galahad and Tristan had patrolled this way three days earlier for Woads and found none. And being thorough - or as I privately liked to believe, a born worrier - Arthur decided to send us out again to make sure that it remained so.

On hearing my former love's name, I immediately felt a pang of sorrow. Of need. I yearned for Tristan. Wanted him badly. I knew I was a fool to still feel the way I did about him - to still be in love with the arrogant bastard - but I couldn't help it. Tristan _was_ my Achilles heel. My weakness. My one flaw ... My _only_ vice. But I wasn't so naive or foolish to believe that anything would happen between us again. That we'd reconcile. Something told me that was as likely to happen as Bors taking a vow of silence. Or Lancelot, an oath of chastity ...

And then there was Gawain.

I wasn't sure what was going on between us. All I knew was that things were different. My feelings towards him had changed. And they were becoming stronger with each passing day. I no longer saw him as just my brother, or merely a friend. There was an attraction between us and I was starting to view him as something more ... A potential lover.

What I felt for him wasn't love. Well, not yet anyway ... It was caring. Affection and respect. And I swiftly realized it _could_ easily turn to love, _if_ given the opportunity and the time to nurture it ... It would be so easy to fall for someone like Gawain. Someone so carefree, lighthearted, spirited and kind.

My thoughts were fixed upon Gawain as I rode ahead of him. He seemed different. Not quite his usual talkative self, but distant, silent and pensive. There was a faraway look in his eyes. One I'd come to know pretty well. It was the same look he had whenever he thought of _him. _His Whelp. Galahad.

For some inexplicable reason, I couldn't help feeling envious and wished I was the cause of the wistful longing reflected in those clear, guileless blue eyes. I sighed heavily and to distract myself from Gawain, reached down to stroke Flight's neck. That always soothed me and would've worked this time too, if Gawain's horse hadn't narrowly missed colliding with Flight's left haunch. I raised my head and studied my friend carefully. It was unlike him to be so distracted. Gawain gave a faint, rueful smile and shrugged his shoulders half-heartedly. He seemed confused. Unsure of himself.

"Keep doing that and you'll end up bareback as well as bare-arsed, y'know," I teased gently. "Thanks."

"For what ?"

"For breaking me out and giving me my freedom. For somehow managing to convince Arthur, that I was fine to patrol. And for getting Bors off my back for a while." I looked up at the sky, revelling in the sun's warmth as it caressed my face. Gawain shrugged it off, modestly claiming that if our situations were reversed, I'd have done the same for him. And he was right. I would have. In a heartbeat ...

We continued our journey until thirst became an issue. Gawain reached for his water skin and drank before tossing it over to me. I accepted it gratefully and was all too aware of his steady, heated gaze as I quenched my thirst. Having drunk my fill, I re-capped the skin and tossed it back to him. I must have caught him off-guard, as it hit him squarely on the chest. The fact that he was so preoccupied threw me slightly. I raised an eyebrow enquiringly and was about to ask him what was preying on his mind, when he suddenly spoke.

"So ... is it true that you called your cousin a demented mother hen ?"

Out of all the questions he could have asked, that one I wasn't expecting. Rubbing my nape, I laughed then confided, "Aye, I did. Reckon Van got a good laugh out of that one, eh ? Bors just ... I know his heart's in the right place and he means well, but he stifles me at times, y'know ? I'm not a child, for mercy's sake, but you try telling him that ..." I heard Gawain chuckle softly before an awkward silence fell between us once more.

_**XXXXX**_

It had been a quiet, uneventful patrol. On our way back to the fort, we stopped at the river to water the horses. It was a warm evening and my tunic clung uncomfortably to my torso. In a vain attempt to distract ourselves from the heat and to while away the time, we dismounted, led the horses to the river's edge and made idle small-talk. Discussing everything and anything ... except what we really needed to talk about. _That_ kiss ...

After a while, I could take no more of the faffing around nor the heat, both were driving me me mad. In the end, I let go of Flight's reins and silently waded into the middle of the river until I was able to duck my head under the surface so that I could cool off. I eventually stood up, revelling in the feel of the rivulets of cool water trickling down my heated skin and the blissful relief I got from the feel of my sodden tunic, all the while keenly aware of his steady gaze upon me as I did so. Gawain shifted uneasily and I noticed a faint blush staining his cheeks.

Silence fell between us yet again as we continued to stare at each other. Both of us lost in our own little worlds. The quiet became oppressive, almost deafening, filled with unspoken tension. Then with a nonchalance I didn't feel, I leisurely made my way back to the bank and sat beside him. Feeling drawn to him once more and debating whether to act upon it. And that's when it happened ...

Without warning, Gawain turned and kissed me. This time, I didn't resist. I yielded. Willingly. Eagerly. After a week of enforced bedrest, with nothing to do but relive that smouldering embrace we'd shared, I wasn't going to deny him ... Or me. All I'd done was yearn to repeat the experience. To feel Gawain's firm, sensual lips caress mine. To allow him to seduce me. _I_ wanted this ... I wanted _him._

Gawain ...

One of his hands rested on my shoulder, the other cradled the back of my head, drawing me close as he deepened the kiss. I heard a low moan, but for the life of me, I couldn't swear I knew who uttered it. Gawain suddenly gave in to his need. He dragged me forward, pulling me to lie on top of him as he fell back onto the grassy bank. I found myself resting between strong, muscular thighs and felt his long, powerful legs entwine around mine. Snaring me. Preventing my escape. Not that I wanted to anyway ... Not when his touch was giving me so much pleasure and making me feel so aroused.

Gawain thrust his lean hips upwards. Slowly and deliberately grinding them against my painfully hard length. I immediately became aware that he was similarly afflicted and I growled softly with need. He broke the kiss and gazed deeply into my eyes. His bright cobalt eyes were full of awe and wonder as he realized that his exact emotions were mirrored in mine. Those stormy, blue pools seemed to plead with me. They begged - no, _demanded_ - my attention.

I brushed my lips fleetingly against his, before nudging his chin up to nuzzle at his beard, then lightly bite his neck. Gawain's hands were instantly on my damp tunic. Pawing at it insistently, causing the stubborn material to finally part as I slid down his body. My hands came to rest at his waist and I looked up at him before grasping his tunic and shoving it upwards, forcing him to sit up so that I could strip him of the damn thing. After I'd got rid of the offending garment, we fell into each other's arms. Warm, bare flesh crushed against naked skin. Hard sinew pressed tightly against taut muscle. Hands roaming freely and possessively over trembling lust-filled bodies, perfectly mirroring every heated caress made by passionate lips. Every move made, teasing. Tantalizing. Tormenting.

Then, I abruptly withdrew. Kept Gawain at arm's length. I was torn. Conflicted. I couldn't help thinking of Tristan. Of how I missed him. Then, just as quickly, my thoughts turned to the Whelp. Of how deeply and passionately Gawain loved him and how Galahad's cruel rejection had hurt him. And the thought of being just a substitute for that moody, impetuous brat ... that I was a mere replacement to keep Gawain's bed warm, enabling him to forget his loneliness, truly pained me. It hurt ... A fucking lot. Like a blade to the gut. That wasn't what I wanted. What I desired. I was worth a great deal more than that. At least, I hoped I was ...

Yet I knew what I was doing was also wrong. That I was using Gawain. That I was taking advantage of his friendship. But I was lonely. Starved of affection. And I had needs ... ones that needed tending to. Ones which couldn't be resolved entirely by my own hand.

As I brooded, I failed to note the determined look on Gawain's attractive face. He suddenly tugged me forward and somehow, I found myself on my back with Gawain propped up on his elbow beside me. I closed my eyes. My breathing was ragged. Uneven. And my chest rose and fell agitatedly. Then I felt him gently stroke my chest with calloused, exploring fingertips. The caresses varied between tiny circles and long lines from my collarbone to my navel. I was unable to stop a slight, husky groan from escaping my lips. Gawain leant forward, his lips sensually tracing the path created by his fingers. The sensation caused me to gasp sharply and he stopped abruptly. He appeared startled by my response and I immediately felt guilty.

"Gawain ... it is just ... your beard - it scratches."

"Oh."

I reached out a hand and carded it through his thick, tousled mane. Savouring the feel of the long, tawny strands between my fingers. I opened my eyes. A faint, impish smile curved my lips and I gave the lock of hair which was entwined around my finger a sharp tug before reluctantly releasing it.

"I never meant for you to stop ... unless you want to. It ... it feels good ... _so_ good ..."

His wicked, talented hands began to caress me once more. Making me forget everything and everyone save him. But those skilled, confident hands wavered as they reached my leathers' waistband. He seemed uncertain whether to continue or not. I could see the emotions warring against each other on his face. Fear of rejection versus desire. Then, after a while, he came to a decision and swiftly began to unlaced them. It was as if he knew I'd stop him if I was unhappy or reluctant to continue. But I was far from unwilling. My body had been starved of affection for so long, that I craved this. Wanted this. Desperately.

I didn't stop him. Passively, I allowed him to tug off my boots and strip me of my clothing and enjoyed the feel of his hands roaming across my bare thighs and the feel of his lips upon my skin. I remained silent. By now, Gawain had me so painfully aroused, so godsdamned hard, that I couldn't trust myself to speak ... For I was aware that anything I uttered would sound like gibberish ... All I knew was that he made me feel so good and that I hadn't felt that way since ... Tristan. And I wanted the feeling to continue. I felt him trace tiny, circular patterns on my hips and his head was canted to one side as he contemplated his next move. Fearing he was about to stop - that he regretted what we were doing - I sat up.

But before I could do anything, he moved with the speed of a plummeting falcon. And the next thing - the _only_ thing - I was aware of was the moist heat of his wickedly sinful mouth on my inner thigh. Nipping and sucking gently on my flesh. Marking me. My mind went totally blank. He'd rendered me of all coherent thought. All I could do was feel. With an intensity which nearly blinded me.

His touch made me shudder and I moaned huskily. Whether he was aware of it or not, Gawain had me at his mercy. I was helpless against the onslaught of his mouth, lips and tongue upon my nethers. Propped up on my elbows, I watched him through half-closed, hooded eyes, vaguely conscious of the mischievous smirk on his face as he moved closer. Nearer to where I wanted - where I needed - him to be. He nuzzled my weeping shaft and scratched at it with his beard, before teasing it with the tip of his tongue. His hot breath seared my sensitive flesh. I moaned softly. The moan evolved into his name which fell low and throatily from my lips. Then I felt Gawain's piercing gaze. It was fixed hungrily upon my shaft and he eyed it like a starving man.

Unlike some, I've never been one to brag. But I have been told that I am very well-endowed. That I'm blessed. Until now, I'd always believed those words to be meaningless. But Gawain's firm grasp upon my hips and the scorching heat of his mouth wrapped around my member, made me reconsider what I believed. He'd swallowed - to my amazement, without gagging - my entire length. Right down to its root. My hands immediately cradled his head. My fingers absently carding through his sun-streaked, dark gold mane. The low moan he gave around my member sent a tremor through my body and made my breath hitch.

His wickedly clever tongue curled dexterously, possessively, around me, slicking my length several times. I soon found myself gasping his name in a continuous mantra as he worked at a steady pace on my hardening length. My hands fell away from his head to frantically grasp at clumps of grass beneath me; my fingers flexing and tensing with every pass of his lips upon my aching arousal. This didn't deter him in any way. If anything, Gawain's technique varied. He alternated between taking me all the way into his mouth then releasing me. Tormenting me with delicate cat licks around the weeping head, then gently nipping its entire length. By now, he too was panting hard. His rasped moans mingled with mine. Going by the increasing hardness and girth of his leather-clad arousal, I could tell he was as close as I was ... That he also desperately craved release ...

I was struck by an intense need - a hunger - to feel his mouth upon mine. To taste him. To sample myself upon his lips. To devour him. I jerked his head upwards, freeing myself from his glistening, pouting lips and before he could object, I claimed his mouth. Ravenously. My hands which were resting on his lean hips, made short work of freeing him from the confines of his snug leathers and I slowly caressed his hard, silken heat.

"Gawain ... " I murmured against his bearded cheek, only for him to effectively silence me with his lips.

"C'mon, Dag ... let me do this, please ... I want to ..."

I'd never heard Gawain beg this way before. For anything. And whatever he'd done to me ... by the gods, I couldn't refuse him. I didn't want to deny him. I let him do exactly as he wished.

He fell upon me once more. Taking me deeply into his mouth. Playing with me. Teasing me until I felt ready to burst. I was so close. Almost at the point of no return ... and that's when it hit me. I'd no idea where he wanted me to cum. Panicking, I tried to warn him, by asking him repeatedly. Yet he persisted in ignoring me. If anything, he seemed intent on getting me off. Sooner, rather than later ...

Then I felt it. The familiar burn of white heat pooling in my groin and my balls swiftly drew up. And then it was too late ... Too late to pull away ... To push him away ... To warn him. My member trembled uncontrollably and I was helpless. I came violently. Spilling hot seed long and hard into his eager, willing mouth. Gawain milked me dry. Left me drained and completely sated. My limbs quaked and unable to bear my weight any longer, I slumped weakly onto the grass and closed my eyes. I was barely conscious of Gawain's tongue gently lapping the remaining cum from my cock and sac. Afterwards, he carefully wiped my thighs clean with his tunic, tossing it carelessly aside before wiping away traces of my seed from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

Then, Gawain calmly lowered his tawny coloured head towards my torso. Long hair gently caressed and teased my sensitive skin and I exhaled sharply when his firm lips trailed a fiery path across my chest before latching onto a nipple. He suckled fiercely. Teased it. Licked it. Bit and worried it playfully, until the tiny nub of muscle hardened and throbbed painfully. Giving it a swift lave of his tongue to ease away the smarting pain, Gawain reluctantly raised his head. He studied me with dancing, impish blue eyes. A tanned forearm lay across my chest and his bearded chin rested upon it.

With a lazy smile, Gawain rose to his feet and held out a hand, "Come, brother ... It's getting late and if I don't get you back before dark, gods only know what mischief Bors'll imagine we got up to ..."

Feeling boneless and blissfully sated, I happily took his hand and allowed him to haul me to my feet. Returning his smile with a sheepish grin of my own, I replied huskily, "and godsforbid that Bors starts to think that or that you've led me astray, brother ..."


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** _Still_ not mine, despite an obsessional, copious amount of wishing, hoping and praying. Everything recognizable belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer and Touchstone Pictures - godsdammit !

**Warning:** _contains slash and strong language._

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**Chapter VI**

_**Gawain's pov:**_

I'm not quite sure what's going on between me 'n' Dag, if I'm honest. What this "thing" is ... This attraction ...

Ever since Dag was deemed fit to resume his duties and the patrol which followed, we've become so much closer. Intimate. Whether this is a good or bad thing remains to be seen, but right now ? It's a distraction. Something we both need. Something that helps us forget the ones we truly want, even if it's only for a short while ... It's not that I - no, we - don't care for or love each other ... we do. Only it's a different kind of love. It's not the all-consuming, passionate, undying love I have for Galahad, but a deep affection and fondness for a true and loyal friend who means the world to me ... and I'm sure that's exactly how Dagonet feels as well. That deep down, Tristan's the one he's in love with and will continue to love until he draws his very last breath.

But for now, what Dag 'n' I share, what we have, is what we need. It may not be exactly what or with who we want, but we need each other and the comfort that need brings us. And that _has_ to be enough to tide us over ... for now.

Weeks have passed since we became close. We're comfortable with each other and I won't lie, but I've come to love our gentle giant deeply and I know that he cares for me in the same vein ... We still patrol together. Talk, confide in and enjoy each other's company. Whereas once Galahad used to always be at my side, I now have Dagonet. Strong, silent, supportive and sympathetic. He's been my rock since I lost my Whelp. A true and loyal friend and a good listener who never judged or condemned me for my lapse when I foolishly allowed Bors' influence to lead me astray ... leading me to lose the one I love.

Like I said, Dag and I are close and I have to confess that we've dallied a fair bit of late. It's like we can't help ourselves. Something draws me to him and strangely, he feels the same pull towards me. And when we're together - alone - both of us find it almost impossible to keep our hands off each other. I crave Dag's touch. The feel of his warm, strapping body pressed against mine. His caresses. And the taste of his lips ... cool, crisp and seductive like the finest wine. Yet despite all that, neither of us have expressed any desire to take things further. It's almost as if we've come to an silent understanding, huh, made a unspoken agreement, that neither of us are prepared to take the other. To take intimacy to its furthest peak's the one line we've no intention to cross. For if we did, it would be as betrayal of the utmost kind. We'd be deceiving the ones who mean everything to us. And that's a risk neither of us are prepared or willing to take ...

_**XXXXX**_

_**Dagonet's pov:**_

Gods ! I never believed I'd hear myself say this, but for once I was glad to get back to the shithole known as our garrison.

Our last mission had been an absolute bugger right from the off ! Gawain, Bors and I had just got back from Deva having been ordered to escort Bishop Germanus there. None of us had been happy with the task as we all despised the man, believing him to be a cunning, malignant bastard of the first order. But Arthur had given us no choice ... or rather Germanus had forced his hand, ensuring our hapless C.O. had no other option but to send us. All we know was that Arthur had been far from happy at the prospect of losing the three of us for two days, but had been compelled to comply to the Bishop's wishes. Why that devious old sod had insisted on having at least three of the Sarmatian knights provide escort when he had a cohort of Romans at his disposal, I'll never know. Bors, meanwhile, had been his usual tactful and discreet self and made no effort whatsoever to be silent. He voiced his opinion on the matter as loudly as possible, much to Gawain's amusement and my exasperation. All in all, it created a tense and fraught atmosphere which I longed to break free from at the earliest given opportunity ... before Bors' mouth got the three of us into serious strife.

It came as somewhat of a relief to finally rid ourselves of the Romans once we entered Deva. We'd been given the option to stay there overnight or set off back immediately, the three of us, naturally, unanimously opted for the latter ... only to be ambushed by a scouting party of half a dozen Woads just over a mile from the fort. The skirmish was fast, furious and brutal, with casualties on both sides. Bors continued with his tradition of proudly coming home with an injury, this time a dislocated shoulder; Gawain had been tackled from above, causing a normally placid Nix to rear up, which resulted in an indignant, cursing Halani with a badly sprained ankle. I was more fortunate compared to the other two and ended up with a fat lip and a nasty cut to the bridge of my nose. On our arrival at the garrison, Arthur's stunned expression at the state of us proved to be a source of great amusement and made our trivial battle scars somehow worth it. It took Arthur a while to stop gawking like a fish, before he ordered us to go straight to the valetudinarium to be tended to. That was followed by a visit to the baths, then a meal before we turned in for the night.

Once we entered the tavern, we parted company with Bors. Vanora swept down upon her high spirited lover and hauled him over to a table close to the bar where she could keep a close, yet concerned eye upon him. Not that Bors made much of a protest if truth be told, if anything he revelled in the attention she bestowed upon him and was barely able to conceal the contented smirk on his face. That just left Gawain and myself to seek a table by the fire and wait for our repast of goat stew and fresh bread accompanied by a large ewer of Vanora's finest ale.

Gawain was engaging company. A joy to be around and to break bread with. We were completely at ease with each other and content to idly while away the time by reminiscing about our brethren and discuss other matters. I felt happy in his presence. Lighthearted and at peace. Gawain, whether he was aware of it or not, was important to me and had played a vital part in helping me heal. And for that reason alone, I'd come to love him dearly.

Then, suddenly, Gawain froze. The tavern's atmosphere changed. The air became tense and strained. I followed his gaze and saw _them_ ... My Scout and _his -_ Gawain's - Whelp.

Tristan and I had always been able to sense each other's presence, as well as read our body language. Although he did not look at me once, I could tell just by the way he carried himself that he was aware of the company I kept. Usually, he moved with a silent, fluid, feline grace, but now he stalked past our table, his lithe, athletic frame full of barely contained tension. Then, just as quickly, his posture changed. Squaring his shoulders, he began to move with a purpose towards a table in a dark corner, silently ignoring everyone in the room. Especially me. And that hurt. A lot. Knowing that the proud, stubborn, reticent man that I was still stupidly in love with, was dead-set on refusing to acknowledge my existence ...

I watched him covertly for a short while and felt saddened that my beloved Scout cut such a lonely, unhappy figure in the busy tavern. Then to my relief, I saw Vanora approach him, carrying a pitcher and a tankard. To his astonishment, she sat at his table, her lovely, expressive face taking in his dishevelled, gaunt appearance with genuine concern and sympathy. Van remained with him for a while, talking softly while he silently listened to her. I surmised she was intent on keeping him company and to keep him out of trouble. For it was common knowledge that a drunken Tristan was far more unpredictable than a sober one ... After a while, she gracefully rose to her feet and when she believed no one was looking, pulled out a couple of apples she'd hidden within her apron and slipped them across the rough surface of the table until they were within his reach. Genuinely surprized by her kindness, he looked at her and gave a slight, crooked grin. One which briefly lit his face. Vanora merely shrugged and gave him a sad smile, before gently squeezing his shoulder and moving away to where Bors sat talking with Jols.

Not wanting to be caught staring at him, I turned my attention to the Whelp. He glared at Gawain with such animosity, that my friend visibly stiffened, his bright blue eyes clouding with intense pain and sorrow. Galahad then turned away, strode over to Bors and Jols and summoned Meg, a buxom, fair haired serving wench over, pointedly and vindictively ignoring Gawain. The little bastard's behaviour was childish and designed to maim and to hurt the one who loved him. Gawain shifted restlessly. His pain was palpable. Acutely aware of what he was feeling, I reached across and laid my hand upon his forearm and gave it a brief, reassuring squeeze and was unable to avoid seeing the way he clenched and unclenched his fist in anger and frustration. I was rewarded with a ghost of a smile and a muttered thanks. We left not long after that, thanks to the Whelp cruelly taunting Gawain by crudely leering at Meg's ample chest as she leant over to fill up his tankard. The next thing I heard, was the sound of a chair's legs loudly scraping against the stone floor. Gawain stormed off, in order to hide his pain and worried about him, I followed, like a hound at his master's heels.

We walked silently, in the drizzle. Lost in our own thoughts. I could tell Galahad's childish behaviour was still preying on Gawain's mind. That his antics had wounded him to the quick. Before we knew it, we were back at our quarters. Gawain seemed utterly lost. Full of anguish and pain. In the end, I made the decision for him, pushing him into his chamber and decided bugger the consequences ... Comforting Gawain far outweighed the risk of being caught. My only priority was to give him solace. To help him as he'd helped me over the past few months. I was about to follow him and to ensure our privacy, bolt the door, only to find my path obstructed. By Gawain.

My eyes met his sorrowful, hurt gaze and he shook his head slowly. The look on his face was full of regret. "Sorry, Dag, I can't ... Not tonight. I want to be alone ... I need to think, y'know ?"

Dipping my head in acknowledgement of his wishes, I couldn't help feeling concerned for him, yet I reached out and gently squeezed the ball of his shoulder in sympathy. "I understand, brother ... Y'know where I am if you need me, aye ?"

Gawain simply nodded, then silently closed the door and I sighed as I heard the bolt softly slide into place.

_**XXXXX**_

Summer quickly turned to Autumn. The days grew shorter, nights grew longer.

It was during this time, I was temporarily placed in charge of the fort, while Arthur was sent as an envoy to Londinium, taking Lancelot and ye gods, my cousin, Bors with him. When I first heard that he'd selected my kinsman - a man not known for his tact to accompany him on something so important - I almost died ... of laughter. I truly thought Arthur must've suffered a glancing blow to the head from Gawain's axe. That was the only reason I could think of for him to make such a rash decision. The idea of Bors, of all people, having to mind his yap _and _be on his best behaviour, as well as having to suffer both Lancelot and Arthur's company, was laughable. I had a niggling feeling in my gut that this wouldn't bode well. The chances of Bors losing his infamous temper were very high.

I can't say I liked being in charge of things. It wasn't easy trying to keep the peace between the Romans and the Sarmatians. The Roman soldiers never missed an opportunity to shit stir and cause trouble and unfortunately, Galahad was always far too quick to rise to the bait. I could only hope that my enforced command would prove to be the exception to the rule, as I didn't fancy explaining to Arthur on his return, why the valetudinarium happened to be full of maimed legionnaires.

I even tried to make peace with Tristan; gave him and Galahad the option to stay at the fort, seeing as the Woads appeared to have gone to ground. But my stubborn Scout declined and wouldn't be swayed from Arthur's prior instructions. Not only that, he refused to look at me and would only speak in clipped sentences. The tone of his husky voice cold and reserved. It was as if he was determined to keep me at a distance and have as little as possible to do with me. That led me to wonder if he'd inadvertently stumbled across the true nature of my relationship with Gawain. It was the only reason I could think of that would explain his hostility.

As my kinship with Tristan diminished, my bond with Gawain strengthened. Gawain was good for me, even though he could also be a very bad influence and at times, most distracting. Although he was responsible for my current state of happiness, deep down I still yearned for and loved Tristan with all of my heart, as I'm sure Gawain craved Galahad. I couldn't help it. That obstinate Aorsi bastard held my heart in an unbreakable grip and I'd always be his, even if we were fated to remain apart.


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** _Still_ not mine, despite an obsessional, copious amount of wishing, hoping and praying. Everything recognizable belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer and Touchstone Pictures - godsdammit !

**Warning:** _contains slash and strong language._

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**Chapter VII**

_**Vanora's pov:**_

As soon as I saw the three twerps slope into the tavern - or in Gawain's case, hobble - I just knew they'd somehow got themselves into trouble on the way back from Deva. Groaning softly, I rolled my eyes as my battered, infuriating, yet lovable Bors swaggered towards me. So full of himself. So cock-sure. And to me, even after all these years ? Still so very attractive. The first thing I did once my man was within reach, was give him a sharp slap upside the noggin, grab him by the ear and lug his idiotic arse over to an empty table by the bar. Forcing him to sit where I could keep a close eye on him and make sure that he behaved himself.

The moment his backside came in contact with the chair, I bent down and brushed my lips against his closely cropped scalp, then whispered fondly in his ear. "You bloody, daft sod ... you'll be the death of me, y'know that ? For once, just once, why can't you come home from a mission or a patrol without any war wounds ?"

The impudent bugger merely leered, then grinned impishly, instantly making me want to slap him upside the head again. Somehow, I found the self-control to resist that temptation and simply swatted his right shoulder. Bors winced, then tentatively rubbed it with his left hand whilst gazing at me with wounded eyes.

"Ow, woman ! Why the bloody buggering hell did you do that for ?"

Feeling satisfied, I smirked and replied, "Because I could ... and 'cause it was funny, you randy, old goat. Why wouldn't I ? Now sit your arse down 'n' don't you dare move 'til I tell you to ... Sometimes, you can be worse than all the little 'uns together !"

Bors, daft lump that he was, simply grinned then replied, "What can I say, love, they learnt from the best- "

Rolling my eyes once more and giving an unimpressed snort, I muttered, "The best ? My arse !" I was about to say more, when I spied Jols wandering aimlessly towards us. The sight of the quiet, level-headed, gentle man made me sigh in relief and, much to his and my Bors' surprize, I immediately accosted him as I realized he'd come for something to eat. The stable-master's eyes immediately narrowed when I gave him a welcoming smile.

"Jols ! Come. Sit. Your usual ?" I hustled him to Bors' table and made him sit. By now, Jols' brow was deeply furrowed in confusion and he nodded hesitantly, clearly worried by my behaviour. Reckon Bors was also puzzled by it as he raised an enquiring eyebrow and tilted his head. Actions which I promptly ignored, thinking to myself that he was being his usual nosy, old bugger self.

"So, Jols," I said brightly, turning my attention back to the horse-master. "I was wondering ... would you mind doing me a little favour ?"

The man immediately tensed in his chair, blue-green eyes narrowed further into wary slits. "Er ... depends ?"

I gave him a reassuring smile. "It's nothing drastic. In fact, you don't even have to move. All I need you to do is make sure that this daft man o'mine's arse doesn't leave that chair and that he stays out of mischief 'til I finish up here. If you do that, you'll get all the ale you can drink and your supper for naught ... So, what d'ya say ? Do we have a deal ?"

"Is that it ?"

"That's it."

"I don't have to do anything ?"

"Bugger all, Jols !" I struggled to keep a straight face as I noted the tension gradually seep away from his shoulders and his unease dissipate. I knew then I'd managed to win him over with only the promise of a free meal. "That's all there is to it."

Jols' eyes darted over to Bors and met his, then with a tentative grin, he reached across the table and held out his hand. "Fine ... Aye, go on then, I'll do it."

I quickly shook his hand before he had a chance to change his mind and withdraw it and smiled. "Good. Glad we got that sorted. Now, neither of you move ... I'll be back with your food before you know it."

_**XXXXX**_

Once I knew my man was being kept occupied and, more importantly, out of trouble by someone I trusted, I sighed in satisfaction and went back to work. The tavern was bustling and Igraine, Rowan and I were kept pretty busy serving ale and food, as was Meg in the kitchen. But after a while, there was a lull and we were all able to catch our breath. Being young, pretty and flirtatious, the three of them predictably, left the bar to mingle with the customers, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Sighing wearily, I reached across for a pitcher of mead and poured myself a goblet, sipping from it thoughtfully as I scanned the room. It wasn't long until my eyes fell upon a familiar pair of knaves. Ones I knew only too well and cared for deeply. Dagonet, I'd always viewed and loved as a younger sibling and after Tristan had somehow become entangled in Lancelot's web of deceit and fucked up his relationship with Dag, I'd become even more protective of him. Gawain, meanwhile, I'd always been fond of. Well, who in their right mind wouldn't be ? After all, the man was a good natured, kindly soul, as well as being, loyal, steadfast and true to those he cared for, albeit sometimes be a bit naive and too trusting for his own good ... something which sadly was proven right, when my Bors' bad influence led him astray and caused him to lose his lover, Galahad in the process ... An incident I hadn't hesitated to tear a strip off Bors and I've still not forgiven him for his part in it.

As I studied them, I couldn't help noticing a familiarity between both men which instantly made me uncomfortable. I knew Gawain and Dag had always been friendly. That they shared a rapport. But this ? _This_ was different. And even though I couldn't quite put my finger on it, I knew no good would come of it. When Dag and Tristan parted, Gawain became Dag's rock. His confidante and best friend. And when the Whelp broke up with Gawain, Dag returned the favour. Was there for him when Gawain felt low. Supported and cared for him. But now I sensed a subtle change in their relationship. Where once they'd been mere comrades, brothers-in-arms, now ... Well, I wasn't quite sure what they were now. Brothers ? Friends ? Lovers ? Gods ! I'm fucked if I know. The first two descriptions were true of them, but the third ? It was nothing I could prove, only a niggling feeling in my gut which warned me of impending trouble. Call it what you will ... suspicion ... a woman's intuition ... I dunno. But there was a closeness between them now that was far stronger and more intense than before. They were comfortable with each other ... and it was an easiness borne of intimacy. An intimacy they alone were privy to. And it was an intimacy that would split the brethren in half.

For I knew if things had changed between Dagonet and Gawain - _if _they were now in a relationship - it wouldn't bode well for the others. It'd also hurt two of them deeply. Even though Galahad was the one to break things off with Gawain, he'd be devastated if his former lover had moved on. And as for Tristan ? Deep in his heart, I knew he had hopes of reconciling with Dagonet. That he still loved Dag deeply and wanted him badly. And the idea of Dagonet becoming involved with someone he considered a friend, would surely break his heart.

Like I said, I couldn't prove anything but being a woman, I could damn well sense something was going on between them. After all, a woman has a nose for these things. A failsafe ability to sense intimacy that can't be disputed ...

Suddenly, I noticed both men stiffen. The air became tense and strained as the tavern's atmosphere swiftly changed. Gawain's bright blue eyes appeared dull and full of pain and I craned my neck to see what caused his unhappiness. The sight of that stubborn, little sod, Galahad sauntering leisurely without a care in the world, behind a certain Aorsi Scout, made me groan and pray that there wouldn't be any trouble. A hasty glance at my lover's kinsman, revealed an equally ill at ease Healer, whose gaze flickered warily, yet fondly over the silent, deathdealer's lithe frame.

Like Dagonet, I could sense that Tristan was keenly aware of his former lover's presence, even though the proud, younger warrior was grimly determined to ignore it. Tension governed his lean, sinewy body and the way he moved was less fluid and more stilted. Then, just as he stalked past Dagonet and Gawain's table, his posture changed. The predatory grace returned to his body as he squared his shoulders and strode purposefully towards his usual table in the darkest corner of the room. A table the rest of the tavern's patrons knew to avoid at all costs, unless they wished to become a moving target for the man's numerous, lethal blades.

Another quick glance at Dagonet and the agony that flashed across his rugged face as well as the hurt which glistened in his silver eyes, conveyed exactly the effect the Scout's indifference had on him. But I knew, despite his apathy, that Tristan was similarly affected. That he was in immense pain, yet far too bloody-minded to acknowledge it. Shaking my head sadly, I swallowed another mouthful of mead while watching the solitary, forlorn figure who sat in the shadows. I care for Dag, don't doubt that I do, but I knew he'd be fine. That my Bors, the little bastards and Gawain would make damn sure of it. But Tristan ? Although the whole mess was one of his own making, that he'd fucked up beyond belief where Dag was concerned, I truly felt for him. Gods ! I must be the only person who did. But I could see how regret consumed Tris. That he _was_ genuinely remorseful and would've given anything to prevent hurting Dag.

My mind drifted back to a conversation I'd had with the mercurial Aorsi only a few months earlier. A talk I'd had with him before Gawain seriously fucked up when he heeded my Bors' bad influence. Influence which resulted in the Whelp throwing a hissy fit of overwhelming proportions, before unceremoniously dumping the fun-loving blond. An unbelievable strop that had now led to Gawain and Dagonet turning to each other for solace.

I remember sitting down with Tris at the same godsdamned table, unable to quell the intense sympathy I felt for him. And I also recall ordering him to stop tormenting himself and get off his scrawny arse and do something before he lost Dag for good.

**FLASHBACK**

"You, Tristan, fucked up. You can't deny that you gravely wounded Dag." Seeing him about to interrupt, I placed a forefinger lightly against his lips and gave him a stern glare. But my heart quickly softened when I saw the genuine anguish and desolation on his normally impassive face. And despite my fiesty nature and reputation for having a formidable and fiery temper, I couldn't deny him the compassion I felt towards him. "_You _made a mistake, Tris. A bad one. Pure and simple. But it isn't one that can't be made right, if you want it badly- "

"That'll never happen, Van- "

"Oh, bull ! 'Course it can ! Never thought I'd see the day when an Aorsi would give up on what he wants. Prove me wrong, Scout. I dare you ... Fight for what, or rather _who_, you want. Who you love ... You hold his heart, Tristan, for as long as there's still life in the pair of you. No one else will ever possess it ... It beats for you, Scout. For you alone. But he's still hurting after what you did. A lot. You're going to have your work cut out trying to win back his trust ..."

Tristan sighed and with an unusually unsteady hand rubbed his bearded jaw. "That's impossible. Dag can't bear to look at me. He avoids me whenever he can and if he has to be in my company, he can't bring himself to speak to me ... He hates me, Van. I've lost him ... For good." He turned away to glare sombrely into his tankard.

**END OF FLASHBACK**

Seeing the proud idiot so downcast and without hope led me to have words with him. That day I did something no other woman at the fort had dared to do. I challenged the fort's deathdealer. Dared him to do everything - _anything_ - in his power to make amends with his beloved Healer. To crawl on his hands and knees through the fires of hell if need be, because when all was said 'n' done, he'd been the one to mess up. That his drunken actions had caused his lover to reject him. And even now, I can remember what I'd said. Every single blessed word ... and how they'd given him plenty of food for thought.

"Oh, for mercy's sake ! You're the one who made a mistake, you daft sod. A stupid, miserable, drunken mistake, I grant you. One that you didn't initiate, but it still doesn't change the fact that you were the one who did wrong. _Not_ Dagonet ... You owe it to him, Tris ... And if it means falling onto your sword and admitting that you know you were wrong - that you hate hurting him more than anything - and _will_ fight tooth and nail for him ... Then you do it, Tristan. Prove to him you'll do anything to make it up to him and while you're at it, prove to me that what I believe _is_ right ... That you love him more than anything. More than life itself ..."

At the time, I'd thought I'd done enough ... Enough to make him see sense. But now, I wasn't so sure and it looked like I'd have to take matters in hand once again, especially if I wanted to extinguish any potential flames of trouble should the rest of the brethren discover the change in Dagonet and Gawain's relationship. And right now, seeing Tristan so alone and so upset, I came to a decision. Reaching for a couple of large red apples, I tucked them within the folds of my apron then grabbed a fresh pitcher of ale and a clean tankard, before weaving a path through the crowded tavern to where Tristan lurked.

As I sat at his table, I was immediately struck by his appearance. Since our last talk Tristan, if it were at all possible, looked even more gaunt and dishevelled and if truth be told, the sight of him broke my heart.

"Oh, Tris, love ..." I frowned as I noted the sheer anguish that dulled his golden eyes and the misery that cloaked him. "What happened to you fighting for your man, hmmm ? I thought you were going to pull your finger out and do something ... to win back his trust. Mark my words, if you don't act soon you'll lose him for good ... Someone, some day, _will_ see his true worth and will steal his heart from you ... and I know that's the last thing you want."

Tristan ran a weary hand through his thick, tousled, dark mane and sighed deeply. "Don't you think I already know that ?" he growled huskily. "I know that only too well. The same way I know Dag's true worth ... how pure his heart and soul is ... I know too damn well how anyone would be lucky to have him in their lives, to be his lover, to be loved by him ... and how easily I fucking lost him. I don't _need_ anyone to tell me any of that 'cause I already fucking know. I know I fucked up ... that I don't deserve him, but I just want a chance to prove that he means everything to me. That I'm in love with him. I ... I just want him back, Van. Being without him ... it just hurts so much. I need him, he keeps me sane. Makes me happy ... I can't live like this. Fuck ! This isn't living, I'm barely existing without him and it's bloody killing me- "

I closed my eyes briefly, then leant forward and spoke softly, "Then y'know what you have to do, Tris. _Don't_ let Dag push you away. When it comes to being stubborn, Dag's his own worst enemy. He thinks he's protecting himself by keeping you at arm's length, but he isn't. The daft lug's just depriving you both of what you want ... what you need. And that's each other. No matter how often he may deny it or claim, he's_ still _in love with you. So, fight for him. Leave our Dag in no doubt that you'll never give up on him."

And before he could protest further, I rose to my feet. Glancing quickly around the room to ensure no one was watching us, I pulled out the apples from the folds of my apron, pushing them across the rough surface of the table until they were within his reach. Tristan appeared genuinely surprized by my actions and that came across all too clearly in his all-observant honey-coloured eyes. Then seeing I wasn't playing him for a fool or patronizing him, he gave a slight, crooked grin. One which briefly lit his lean, attractive face. Shrugging, I smiled sadly, then gently squeezed his shoulder only to become concerned once more at how gaunt he'd become in such a short period of time. For once, I wisely decided to keep my own counsel and held my tongue. I'd already tormented the poor bastard enough for one evening without nagging him for neglecting his health. No, that was one tongue-lashing that could be saved for another day. Or for a certain Healer to mete out. My gaze drifted from the anguished Scout only to fall upon someone I had no qualms giving him a piece of my own mind ... Bors.

I made my way sadly to where Bors, Jols and now Galahad sat, and couldn't help noticing the venomous glares the dark-haired, temperamental Halani kept giving his kinsman and former lover. The fiery youngster had a reputation for mood swings as well as holding grudges and it appeared that Galahad had neither forgotten Gawain's innocent prank nor forgiven him for it ... and had no intention of doing so, more's the pity ... I could only roll my eyes and sigh heavily when the Whelp beckoned one of the serving girls over. Meg immediately sauntered over with a fresh pitcher of ale, coquettishly twirling a blonde curl around her forefinger. Her blue eyes met his boldly and her full lips curved into a lascivious smile. A smile Galahad, to my acute disappointment and growing anger returned fully as he coldly ignored the stricken, muscular, lion-maned warrior who constantly watched him with pain-filled eyes. Dagonet's pale gaze meanwhile, flickered with concern back and forth between his friend and the table where Bors currently held court. The Roxolani Healer's brow furrowed anxiously, as Gawain's strapping frame tensed in anger and frustration. I saw Dag reach across to briefly squeeze Gawain's arm in support and the attractive blond smiled faintly in acknowledgement of the kindly gesture.

The last straw rapidly followed. I suddenly heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back roughly from a table. It was followed by the rapid, heavy footsteps of the blond Halani hastily making his way towards the exit through the crowded tavern. Turning my head, I saw the reason for his departure. The Whelp leering bawdily at Meg's ample bosom as she leant to fill up his tankard. I swore under my breath and was briefly distracted by the sound of a worried Dagonet's purposeful tread on the stone slabs. I met Dag's gaze and he helplessly shrugged his broad shoulders, then glared exasperatedly at an oblivious Galahad before leaving the tavern in search of his best friend.

Equally pissed off, I turned my attention back to the ones who'd caused two of my better behaved patrons to storm out of my tavern. The curvy, fair-haired Meg only had eyes for the dark Halani and paid no heed to anyone or anything else, being only too happy to be ogled at by him.

"Meg, it's getting busy ... shouldn't you be getting back to work ?" Noting the blonde wench's attention was firmly fixed upon the youngest Sarmatian knight, I snapped. "_MEG ! _I'm sure there's _plenty_ for you to be going on with back in the kitche- "

Startled, the flighty young wench finally responded with a hesitant, protesting "B-But- "

Impatiently, I narrowed my eyes and tilted my head towards the direction of the kitchen, pointedly ignoring the annoyed look on Galahad's face. "_Now_, Meg ... I'll finish waiting this table." Seeing her unhappily flounce off back to the kitchen gave me a grim sense of satisfaction, particularly when I saw how disgruntled my orders had left both the Whelp and the girl who'd hoped to share his bed for the night.

"What the fuck, Van- ?" Galahad spluttered angrily. I turned on my heel and gave him a sharp slap to the back of the head and glared at him.

"And you, Pup ... Just _don't_ push me. I've had just about enough of your antics these past few weeks and it stops now, y'hear me ?" I spat, standing in front of him, chest heaving in agitation and resting both hands on my hips.

"_Vanora !_"

"Just shut your godsdamned yap and listen for once. Like I said, I've had enough. It's time for you to grow up, Galahad. Quit being a spoilt brat and act your age, for mercy's sake ... Aye, Gawain did something silly. He was daft enough to listen to what that old bugger next to you," I skewered said old bugger with a pointed glare and Bors, bless him, had the grace for once to look sheepish. "But that's all he did. He was always true and loyal and unlike Tristan, wasn't unfaithful to you. Gawain played a silly prank, but that was his only crime. You didn't have to break up with him over it or keep punishing him as you do- "

"But, I'm no- "

"Hush your mouth, I'm talking ! You're punishing him. You hurt Gawain every time you ignore him. Every time you have a dig at him with that scathing tongue of yours. And tonight ... did you not think how hurt he'd be, seeing you leer at and manhandle Meg in front of his very eyes ? _Well, did you ? _That's not the behaviour of a real man, but the actions of a callow, immature, vindictive youth ! That lad thinks the world of you ... he loves the bones of you, Galahad. He'd do absolutely anything, everything in his power, to make you happy and all you've done lately is treat the poor sod like shit ... all because a damn fool prank went wrong. It's time you manned up and made an effort to make things up to him," I paused in order to calm down and collect my thoughts. As I did so, I noted all three men were watching me wide-eyed with awe and at least two of them had the grace to look both guilty and ashamed of their actions.

I ran a tired hand through my tousled auburn curls, sat down and took hold of Galahad's hand. He looked stunned and, if I'm honest, full of remorse. "Listen, Gal ... I don't want to be a nag nor have a go at you, but this strop of yours has gone on for long enough. It _has_ to stop. Gawain's a good man and he doesn't deserve to be treated so harshly. And if truth be told, it's not only him you're hurting any more, but yourself as well," I added gently, noting that my words were finally starting to sink into his thick, stubborn head. "I know you care for Gawain deeply, despite all you say and do. Hell ! For all I know, you're still in love with him, so do us all a favour and make up with him, aye ? Before it's too late and you lose him for good ... "

Seeing the youngling give a hesitant nod and the pensive look on his face, was enough to satisfy me for now and I slowly rose to my feet. "Right, well ... I've said my piece. Just think on it, that's all I ask ... only don't take too long, aye ? And _you_," I met Bors' impish gaze head on, "behave yourself. Don't give poor Jols here any trouble- "

"Who ? _Me ?_" the daft, lovable lump had the nerve to ask.

"Yes, _you ! _" I retorted, my gaze softening as I watched him affectionately. After all, no matter how often he pissed me off, Bors was my man and I loved him dearly. He could be a damn fool at times, but when it boiled down to it, he was _my_ damn fool and I was lucky to have him. "Right, reckon I'd best go 'n' see that Meg hasn't burnt down my kitchen in a hissy fit ..." And with that, I headed for the back room behind the bar, wincing as I heard the sounds of crockery being slammed on the large oak table by a very, frustrated, disgruntled wench.

_**XXXXX**_

A fortnight quickly passed, causing Summer to effortlessly bleed into Autumn. The days grew shorter, nights longer.

It was during this time, Arthur temporarily placed our Dag in charge of the fort in his stead. Our "esteemed" CO, had departed with his toadying 2-i-c for Londinium. Nothing odd with that you might think, except for one small - or rather in this case, unmissable - detail. He'd had to take an extra man along on the journey and gods help us, the daft idiot had thought it a good idea to take Bors with them. Aye,_ Bors_. My man. The one person in this fort who was notorious for his outspoken tongue, tactlessness and lack of discretion. My gobby, fiery, lovable lug of a man ... As soon as Dag and I heard of it, well naturally, we both collapsed in a fit ... of laughter. After all, who in their right mind would take Bors of all people, on a mission to Londinium of all places ? Needless to say, that very thought kept the pair of us highly amused for days. Especially considering the odds of Bors losing his infamous temper were extremely high ...

Dag, meanwhile, hated being in charge of things. And who could blame him ? Keeping the peace between the Romans and the Sarmatians was a major task in itself. The Roman scum never missed an opportunity to cause trouble and, sadly, Galahad always appeared to be the one who got riled and inevitably retaliated. And it was no wonder poor Dag looked so tense and had resorted to counting the days to Arthur's return ! He even tried to make peace with his Scout as well; giving him and the Whelp the option to stay back at the fort, seeing the Woads had temporarily gone into hiding. But both men rejected the offer and insisted on following Arthur's orders. From what I could glean from the bare minimum Dag would tell me, Tristan had reverted to type. Had become cold, aloof and isolated once more. He'd resorted to protecting himself behind his defensive walls again and wouldn't be swayed into any kind of communication which didn't involve his duties to his CO. A decision which deeply wounded and left his besotted Healer at a total loss. In fact, Tristan's guarded, hostile behaviour, led me to wonder if he'd inadvertently stumbled across what I suspected to be the true nature of Dagonet's relationship with Gawain. That he believed they were lovers and that he no longer had reason to remain at the fort.

Galahad, the insolent, young Whelp, continued to pine for Gawain, yet despite my advice, had done nothing to try to make amends. And honestly ? His stubborness made me despair. Then again, when I think about it ... all four of them had given me much cause to despair. Dag's lack of confidence when it came to Tristan's love for him; Tris' self-loathing and guilt for hurting his Healer, making him believe that he didn't deserve or have the right to win back Dag's trust and heart; Gawain pining over his shieldmate, yet too stubborn to apologize over such a trivial misunderstanding and the Whelp's pride, that persistently kept him and Gawain apart ... It was enough to drive a woman to drink and I longed to knock their thick skulls together in a vain attempt to get them all to see reason.

And the shocking outcome from all this madness, was that the one man I _had_ expected to cause trouble and to drive me to distraction, was the only one that gave me no bother. That Bors, my dear, hulking, brute of a pain in the arse, for once was on his best behaviour ... gods love him !

_**XXXXX**_

_**Dagonet's pov:**_

"Da-ag ... DAGONET !"

I froze. Gawain and I had been sneaking around at any available opportunity of late. Stealing clandestine kisses and furtive caresses whenever we could. We were taking far too many chances and the risk of getting caught became greater with each passing day. Yet, in spite of it all, we couldn't stop ourselves. It was as if we were compelled to do it.

Gawain had just left after yet another tryst and had sauntered off to the tavern. I'd lingered for a while in the shadows, with the intention of following him after a discreet interval. Once I'd judged it to be safe, I began to head towards the tavern and that's when I was stopped in my tracks by someone calling my name.

"_Dagonet !_"

I slowly turned and saw Vanora standing there in front of me. One look at her raised, enquiring eyebrow and the knowing look on her lovely face made my blood run cold. Shit ! She knew ...

"Something you'd like to tell me, big man ?" she asked softly, her dark, intelligent eyes binding me to where I stood. I swallowed hard. I loved Vanora dearly. Like a sister. She was my cousin's lover ... and my kin. I'd never been able to lie to or hide anything from her. And she was shrewd enough to know it. I shrugged and kept my gaze firmly on the ground.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk ..." sighing gently, she shook her head in disbelief. "Would you like to try answering that again ?" One thing Vanora was not, and that was stupid. She was a very bright woman, with a mind as sharp as a blade. Nothing got past her. Not knowing quite how to reply, I remained mute.

"What's going on between you and Gawain, Dag ?" she asked quietly. "As if I don't already know ..."

I felt myself flush. There was no point denying it, not when she knew. "I, uh ... I ... We ... uh ..."

I felt her place a hand on my forearm and squeeze it gently. "It's alright, Dag. I won't say anything ... Although you may not be able to keep it a secret for long. I hope you both know what you're doing ... that you realize this could lead to a world of grief if the others find out. Does Bors know ... ?"

I slowly shook my head. "No ... you're the only one that knows, Van."

"_Ah_ ..." she replied, managing to put a wealth of meaning into such a small word. "How long has this been going on for ?"

"A while ..." I murmured with quiet reluctance. "Since I got wounded on my last patrol- "

"But that was _weeks_ ago ..."

"I know ... It all started pretty innocently. We never meant for it to happen. It just did. We were both lonely. And in a great deal of pain. We were there for each other when we needed someone. Gawain's good for me, Van ... he helps me forget ..."

I felt another reassuring squeeze on my forearm, then Vanora wrapped her arm around my waist and asked quietly, "You care for him, don't you ?"

I nodded.

"But you don't love him ?"

I froze once more. I hadn't expected her to say that. "No ... not in the way he deserves to be loved. I can't give him something which isn't mine to give, Van ... I wish I could. But I can't. I can't risk going through all that again- "

"But, Dag- "

"My heart belongs to Tristan. It always will. Even though the bastard doesn't deserve it. I can't help it, Van. I can't help or change the fact that I'm still_ in _love with him. That I often catch myself thinking of him almost every day. That I still want him ... need him ... after all that's happened between us."

"Have you spoken to him at all ?" Vanora asked curiously.

"Oh, believe me, I've tried," I replied bitterly. "He just doesn't want to know. Wants to have as little to do with me as possible ... He can hardly bear to look at me and I'm lucky if I manage to get more than half a dozen words out of him."

"_He_ still loves you, Dag. Deeply. Still wants you ..."

"Huh ... Really ? Wouldn't have guessed, considering how standoffish he's been lately ..."

"Well, he does. Trust me, I know. That damn fool Aorsi's a proud, stubborn bastard. He just doesn't realize he's cutting his nose to spite his face."

I slowly closed my eyes and inhaled deeply as I took in what Vanora had just told me. That Tristan_ still _loved me. That he wanted _me. _It was what I'd yearned to hear for a long time, yet I hardly dared believe it. I trembled.

"What will you do ? Will you speak with him ?"

"I ... I ... uh ... I don't know ... I don't think I can ... If I'm honest, I don't think he'd listen to anything I have to say ... And I have Gawain to think of. I _can't_ hurt him, Van ... not after the pain and grief that damn Whelp's put him through. It wouldn't be fair to him. He doesn't deserve that." Suddenly, I felt confused. I was conflicted. Torn by the desperate need to reconcile with the one I continued to love, yet not wanting to cause any suffering to a man I'd come to care for deeply.

Despite her fiery temper, Vanora was a kindly and soft-hearted lass and she took pity on me. "Wouldn't go brooding on it all just yet, Dag ... Come on, let's get you inside. I'm sure _your_ Gawain's already got an ewer of my finest brew ready to share with you ..." She winked and gave an impish grin, which I found myself returning, before being led into the tavern, secure in the knowledge that my secret was safe for the time being ...


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** _Still_ not mine, despite an obsessional, copious amount of wishing, hoping and praying. Everything recognizable belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer and Touchstone Pictures - godsdammit !

**Warning:** _contains slash and strong language._

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**Chapter VIII**

_**Dagonet's pov:**_

Although I love Gawain dearly, I've come to realize that I can never - will never - be in love with him. No matter how badly I wish for it. And deep down ? I know he feels the same. No one will ever be able to replace that stubborn, moody, damn Whelp in his heart. For Galahad owns Gawain's heart completely, as surely as Tristan's the guardian and owner of mine.

Gawain and I may have started our bond to provide each other solace and a distraction. As a means of a diversion from the anguish and pain we were suffering on account of our loved ones. Yet in spite of our kinship and the care we felt for each other, the fact that we'd committed ourselves to others couldn't be denied. Even though they had forsaken us. Left us heartbroken. Devastated.

Yet I'm increasingly aware that Gawain - like myself - in his heart of hearts, still clings to the hope that his obstinate shieldmate will come to his senses and attempt a reconciliation - much in the same vein as I continue to pray daily that my proud, stubborn Aorsi bastard will have an epiphany and fight for me and what we had. Bors always had reservations and doubted the wisdom of my decision in accepting Tristan as my lover, but as I'd often reminded him, you can't help who you fall in love with ... Love is unpredictable. Uncontrollable. All-consuming. And it's something we all crave and wish for. That's human nature. We aren't meant to be alone. We're meant to love and be loved, regardless of what others think of your choice of partner. After all, your loved one is meant to make you happy, to have your best interests at heart. Not your kin's and your friends ...

_**XXXXX**_

We entered the tavern, Van's arm was looped through mine and my eyes immediately drifted to the table where Gawain and I usually sat. On its rough oak surface sat a clay pitcher and two tankards. But of Gawain, there was no sign. Puzzled by his absence, my brow furrowed. Gawain had promised to meet me and it was extremely unlike him not to keep his word. Absently, I ran a weary hand over my cropped scalp as I made my way slowly towards our table. I sat down and poured myself a tankard of ale and began to brood. After a second tankard, I realized that Gawain wasn't going to show. Feeling slightly angry and more than a little disappointed, I rose to my feet. There was no point in staying and if I was being honest, I was tired.

I sighed heavily and began to meander through the crowd back to my quarters. And then it happened.

I wasn't looking where I was going and immediately walked straight into someone, almost knocking that person down. Without thinking, I reached out my hand to steady him and that's when I heard the familiar, husky, faintly-accented growl. The one which always made my toes curl, sent a shiver of longing down my spine and a bolt of desire straight to my loins.

"Why the fuck don't you look where you're goi- ? ..." There was a slight pause then, "Wolf ..."

As soon as I heard my pet name uttered, I noted the growl had softened into a gentle rasp. All trace of impatience and anger gone. I felt the old tingle of desire rush through my body as I felt Tristan's sinewy bicep flex beneath my hand; as I looked up and met his gaze, I was struck by the heat in those striking golden eyes and something else. Something which I hadn't seen for a long time. A flicker of yearning. Of intense longing. It was a look which instantly had my heart racing and my body clenching and tightening with need. It left me in no doubt that I still wanted him. That I needed him.

Feeling myself flush, I reluctantly broke contact and hastily averted my gaze, then mumbled a hasty "Sorry ..." before stumbling away from him. All the while, I was conscious of those enigmatic, heated red-gold eyes full of confusion and hurt as they seared into the back of my head. I'd only made it a couple of yards, when I heard him speak softly.

"No. Dagonet. Please, stay ... Don't go ..."

I froze for a moment, thinking I'd heard a certain note in his voice, then believing I'd imagined it, I slowly shook my head and strode briskly towards the exit.

" Dag ... Please, my Wolf. I'm sorry ... For everything. Can we talk ... ?" I was wrong, I hadn't imagined the soft plea I'd heard in his husky voice. Feeling slightly lightheaded, I turned slowly to face him.

_**XXXXX**_

_**Tristan's pov:**_

_**Flashback**_

Ever since my Healer left me, I'd become even more withdrawn. A virtual recluse.

Due to my stupidity - thanks to one drunken, meaningless kiss - I'd lost someone who meant everything to me. Dagonet. The man I loved. The one I'm still in love with. And worst of all, I was the indirect cause that led him to attempt to take his own life. And for that alone, I can never forget what I did nor forgive myself. Nor do I wish or want to ... I don't deserve to forget what I unwittingly caused, nor to be forgiven for the pain, hurt and anguish Dag suffered on my account. The memory of him lying unconscious in that copse, with all that blood running freely from his forearms has been imprinted in my memory and will remain there until the day I die. And the fact that I was the one responsible for making him choose death over life, continues to break my heart even to this day.

Like I said. I've become a recluse. A lone wolf. I rarely spend time with other people, prefering my own company and that of my destrier, Storm and my hawk. I've banished myself from my brethren because I don't deserve to be in their company, that they'd be better off without mine. That I'd only end up hurting them and causing myself pain. I've taken to avoiding the tavern when the others are there and if I'm forced to stay at the fort, I keep strictly to myself; exiled in my quarters so that I may lick my wounds in solitude, or haunting the archery range or the stables, which has become my haven and the only place at the fort where I can find some semblance of peace. Where I can be alone and brood over the fact that I monumentally fucked up when I lost Dagonet. That my so-called life is now completely meaningless without him. He's constantly in my thoughts and my dreams and I'm unable to function properly without him.

_**XXXXX**_

I was sat at my usual table at the tavern, avoiding everyone and hoping for solitude, when I heard my name being called. I chose to ignore it, hoping that whoever it was would fuck off and leave me in peace.

"Tristan - c'mon, you stubborn git ... I need a word ..."

Shit ! It was the Whelp. One of the few in this godsdamned shit-hole who actually still bothered to talk to me and not treat me like a bloody leper. I can't say we were close in any way, but right now, Galahad was the only person, excluding Vanora, I could remotely call a friend ... albeit a distant one.

_"Tristan !"_

Gods-fucking-dammit ! I thought. Why couldn't he, just for once, take a fucking hint and leave me be ? But I could tell by the tone of his voice that he'd no intention of leaving until we'd spoken and that was the last thing I wanted to do.

"Aye. Heard you the first time, you daft Halani." I growled softly, reluctantly dragging my gaze away from my tankard of ale and skewering the hunting knife I'd been idly toying with into the table's knotted surface, absently watching its hilt quiver at the force I'd used. My sudden reply must've unnerved him somewhat, as he stood before me, silent and ill at ease. "Well ... ? Cat got your tongue, Gal ? I mean, y'did blather something about wanting a word ..."

Suddenly, Galahad began to speak and it was like watching a dam bursting. "D'ya know how much he loves you ? How heartbroken he is ? How he craves for you ? That he longs for you as badly as you yearn for him."

Seething, I was in his face before he could finish his rant. How dare he presume ... Trembling with barely contained fury, I snarled softly, "Do not ..."

"Do not _what_, Tristan ? Tell you the bloody truth ? Open your eyes to the fact that you're the one who hurt him and only you can truly heal him ?"

Galahad only got as far as the word "truth" when I reached across the table, grabbed him by the tunic and dragged him forward. The sudden movement caused him to expel air from his lungs with a loud "whoosh."

"Well, what you gonna do, Scout ? Use me for target practice ? Kick my arse ? Gut me ? Make me bleed ?"

"Trust me, I'm considering it ..." I growled low and deep. I briefly loosened my grip on his black leather tunic before suddenly dragging him towards me once more.

"Then do it," he whispered softly as he dared to meet my eyes. _"Do it !" _

Velvety dark orbs recklessly held my gaze unflinchingly. And I was so tempted to hurt him. So very tempted ... To hear him cry out with pain. To make him bleed. Because he'd dared to do what many had failed. He'd spoken the truth. Had called me out. Had seen me for the coward I truly was. That I feared to pursue what I desperately craved. What I longed for. Dag's company and undivided attention. And I hated him for it. Truly hated him. Yet his response to my reply bewildered me. I hadn't expected him to react that way. I'd pushed him and surprizingly, he was daft enough to push back.

"What d'ya want, Gal ? Spit it out 'n' leave me be," I spoke softly, not quietly with deadly intent and I was dismayed that I was unable to conceal the underlying pain in the tone of my voice.

"Already told you, you bloody-minded fool. What_ I _want is for _you_ to listen ... To man up and make make things up to Dag, as I plan to do with Gawain ..."

I released his tunic and half-heartedly shoved him back away from the table, quashing the brief feeling of guilt I felt as he stumbled whilst trying to regain his balance, before withdrawing and running a weary hand down my face.

"Why the fu- ? Gods ! Nah, don't tell me ... Van's had a go at you as well. Am I right ?" Before I could stop myself, my eyes darted to his. But as soon as he met my gaze, I hastily averted mine. I didn't want him to see the yearning and love I still felt for Dag in my eyes. I couldn't allow it. I sank back wearily in my chair, dimly aware of the dark Halani shifting uncomfortably before me, confirming my suspicions that the feisty, extremely bossy, yet well-meaning tavern owner had indeed been meddling in both of our affairs.

"Aye, well ... maybe she has been trying to _help_ me see sense ..." Galahad sheepishly confessed, whilst rubbing his nape agitatedly. "Listen, I may be the youngest, but I'm not blind, nor stupid. I can see that Dag's not the same without you, Tris, that he isn't happy ... just as you are without him." He gave a slight, rueful smile.

Gazing up at the tavern rafters to where my hawk was silently perched, I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose as I did so, before asking the one question I was unsure that I wanted replied. "How d'ya know ... ?"

"For mercy's sake, Tris, does it really matter ?" Galahad hedged. My eyes narrowed contemplatively. Maybe the youngling wasn't as daft as I believed him to be after all. That under all that rashness and fiery behaviour, he actually paid attention to what went on around him. "Fine ... I know 'cause unlike some, when I look I actually _see_ - and, if our supposedly keen Scout had been paying attention, he'd've noticed it too. Y'know, Tris, for someone so intelligent, you can be rather blinkered at times. Why d'ya think Dag gave us a choice not to patrol when Arthur temporarily placed him in charge of the fort ? 'Cause he wanted you near him, you daft sod ... _He wanted you safe. _Whenever you're around, he watches you like a besotted wench pining for her man. It's sickening, Tris ... and you're too fucking proud or blind to see it ..."

"I saw ... I hardly dared to believe ... after what I'd done, I-I lost all hope ..." I breathed deeply and tightly closed my eyes. "And since he had Gawain ... I truly thought he didn't care. That he no longer needed or wanted me." One brief glance at the Whelp's unhappy face immediately led me to believe that Galahad was under the similar impression that Gawain felt the same way about him and that thought felt like a broadsword blade piercing my gut. The pain was intense and unbearable. I swallowed hard, hoping - huh, praying - that I'd misunderstood yet knowing, deep down in my heart, that I hadn't. "Did you ... ? Did Gawain ... ?"

"Tris ... All I know is that 'cause we've both acted like fools, my lion and your wolf have bonded with each other. They've become close. Like brothers. They turned to each other for company 'cause they both needed it. But it'll never be anything more as Dag loves you, Tristan. He always has and he always will. The two of you need to talk and you ? _You_ need to listen and heed what he says. Be patient with him."

I leant back in my chair and half-closed my eyes as I took in his words. Although I knew he'd spoken the truth, it didn't lessen my pain, even though I knew I'd no right to feel this way. Yet I also felt the need to know where my beloved Healer was.

"Where ... ?"

"Probably on his way here as like as not, to meet my Gawain."

I felt torn. I longed for Dagonet. I craved to be at his side once more, yet I was unsure if I'd ever be welcome. If he'd tolerate my presence. Dag probably hated me, yet being a gentle, kindly soul he'd never tell me to fuck off, even though he was well within his right to do so.

"And _what_ will _you _be doing, pray tell ?" I drawled, barely able to keep the sarcasm from my voice.

The Whelp fidgetted uneasily and ducked his head to avoid my steady gaze. "_Me ? _Nowt much ... just ... just doing something I should've done in the first place, instead of being a stubborn arse," he muttered hurriedly as he uneasily shifted his weight from one leg to another.

"And that'd be ?" I raised an enquiring eyebrow as I mildly enjoyed his discomfort.

"Making damn sure Gawain doesn't meet up with your Dag, so I can start grovelling for his forgiveness."

Snorting with barely concealed amusement, I glanced down at his short, leather kilt and idly remarked, "Well, considering the amount of grovelling you have to do and the time you'll be spending on your knees before him, maybe you'd be better dragging him off to somewhere private with plenty of rugs for padding ..."

Noting the grimace of distaste on the attractive youngster's face and the sudden, shocked gasp from him was enough to bring a smirk to mine.

"You filthy bastard !" he spat, causing my smirk to widen further.

"Hey ... all I'm saying is that _we both _know you're going to end up on your knees before him, grovelling or otherwise, may as well do it in comfort, aye ?"

_"Pig !" _And with that scathing retort, the fiery, scarlet-faced Whelp turned on his heel and swiftly left the tavern in search of his former lover, leaving me alone to ponder how I'd regain my beloved Roxolani Healer's trust and win back his heart.

_**End of flashback**_

And that's how I found myself standing before the man I loved more than life itself, silently pleading for him to listen to me. To give me another chance. Even though I knew I was asking too much of him. That I'd no right to expect anything from him. Especially mercy. Yet after what Van had revealed, I had to at least try. I owed it to Dag, even if it led him to tell me to bugger off and leave him the hell alone.

I heard myself pleading as he turned to leave, "No. Dagonet, please, stay ... Don't go ..."

He froze. I could see him become tense with uncertainty, then Dag gave a slight shake of his head before continuing to walk toward the door. My heart stopped. I couldn't just let him walk away and leave. Not now. Not after I finally found the courage - the nerve - to talk to him.

"Dag ... Please, my Wolf. I'm sorry ... For everything. Can we talk ... ?" I'd never begged anyone for anything, but this was so damn important. So much so, that I'd willingly fall to my knees and beg, if it meant he'd give me a chance. I'd do anything. Risk everything for it. Fall on my own dao if I had to. For Dagonet. Then, to my intense relief, he slowly and finally, turned to face me.

My first thought was how tired he appeared. And how undeniably good he looked. He'd put on some weight, had finally lost the fragile gauntness which broke my heart, as well as the dark shadows beneath his haunted eyes. Silver orbs finally met mine warily, yet held more life and a hint of what I dared to believe was hope ... He sighed heavily and raised a hand to wearily rub his nape. Something I knew he only did when faced with uncertainty.

"Tristan ... I'm tired. Can't this wait ?" he finally replied. His husky voice sent a lightning bolt of need directly to my nethers.

I took a deep breath and chewed my lower lip anxiously. It was now or never. Knowing my luck, I'd never get another chance. And I couldn't risk that. "No. It can't ... We really need to talk ..."

He eyed me silently, for what seemed like an eternity, then muttered, "Well, go on then ... Talk ..."

His soft-spoken challenge threw me. I never expected him to throw the gauntlet down in the tavern of all places and I wasn't about to discuss our private business in public.

I shook my head, "Not here, Dag ... In private."

"I can't. It's here, or not at all. I'm waiting for Gawain ..."

Hearing how easily Gawain's name fell from his lips and seeing how his face lit up, made me feel as if I'd been struck hard in the gut. It hurt knowing how close they'd become over the past few months ... how fond Dag was of him. And I couldn't help thinking, no matter what Vanora had said to me earlier, what if Dag had found someone else ? What if he'd fallen for Gawain ? What if he no longer loved, wanted or needed me ?

"About that ..." I paused, then met his gaze head on, "that's part of the reason why I'm here ... Gawain probably won't be coming, Dag. Saw the Whelp earlier. Said he planned on seeing Gawain. Wanted to make amends with him. That he wanted Gawain back ... Galahad also said we both need to talk to each other ... So, will you come with me ?"

Dag's silver eyes clouded with confusion. "I don't understand ... Why ? What's he playing at ?"

I shrugged and watched him sadly, hating the bewildered look on his face. "All I know is that Galahad was determined that we talk. Sort things out between us. Insisted that we did. Said it was important ... But if you'd rather not, I understand ..." I added hastily, when I saw him hesitate.

Resignation and determination came into conflict on his handsome face, as he considered his options. Then suddenly, he spoke, "Well, come on then. What are you waiting for ? May as well get this over with ..."

Considering his "overwhelming" enthusiasm about being in my presence, there wasn't much I could say in response. Mutely, I turned on my heel and stalked out into the cool night air, bristling with wounded indignation. Dag had never been so uncaring, or offhand towards me before. I didn't bother to look back, just carried on walking briskly away from the tavern. And from Dagonet. It seemed that Galahad had been mistaken after all. Dagonet no longer cared and didn't give a shit about me. About us. Or wanted anything to do with me.

I found myself upon the ramparts. In a part often neglected by the fort's inhabitants after dark. Yet, it was somewhere I'd taken to visiting recently at night, simply for that reason alone. So I could be left with my thoughts. In peace. I stared at the full moon and sighed, before sitting on the rampart, shoulders slumped and head bowed. A perfect image of rejection and dejection. I began to brood and soon became lost in my thoughts and in doing so, failed to sense another's presence.

"Tris ... ?"

"What the bloody hell, do you want, Dagonet ? Why are you here, huh ? 'Cause you definitely aren't here for me. I was a fool to dare hope you would be ... So, do us both a favour and fuck off. Go and find your precious Halani and leave me be ..." I snarled, not even bothering to raise my head, for I knew if I did, Dagonet couldn't fail to see the anguish, jealousy and hurt in my eyes. "Just ... just go ! Get the fuck away from me and go to the one you want to be with ..." To my horror, I heard a faint crack in my voice and I prayed he hadn't noticed.

If Dagonet had heard, he didn't show it. He merely sat quietly beside me and stared into the distance, before remarking softly, "Why would I want to, Tris ? Tell me ... Why would I, when I'm exactly where I want to be ?"

I raised my head abruptly, surprized by his response to my tirade. "Don't ... Just ... Just don't, Dag ..."

"Don't what, Tris ?" he asked gently and raised an enquiring eyebrow as he held my gaze steadily. "You were right. We do need to talk. Sort things out between us. Neither of us can go on like this. It's killing both of us- "

"Y'think I don't know that ? There's not a day that goes by, that I haven't regretted what I did ... That I wish to gods I hadn't been so bloody stupid ... That I hadn't hurt you. I seriously fucked up and because of it, I lost you. It's been hell without you, Dagonet ... _Hell ! _My life's bloody pointless without you. Fucking meaningless ... I can't even call it a life anymore. It's barely an existence ... All I know is that I'm no longer alive since you left ..." I inhaled deeply and managed to break eye contact with him and the fight died within me. "I'm sorry, Dag. Truly sorry ... I love you. I'm still in love with you, but I can't do this anymore. It just hurts too fucking much. I know I deserve everything that's coming to me but ... I just want you to be happy and now I know I'll never be the one to do that. I'll only end up hurting you again and that's the last thing I want. Please ... just go ..."

Then, unexpectedly, I felt his hand firmly, yet gently, tilt my chin, forcing me to meet his mild gaze. " 'M not going anywhere, Tris ... Aye, you hurt me. More than you'll ever know. You broke my heart, you stupid, arrogant bastard. You almost broke me. But when it comes down to it, I bloody miss you and ... Oh, goddess ! Forgive me ... I still want you and I never stopped loving you. I couldn't, no matter how damned hard I tried ... Did everything I could to try and forget you, but nothing worked. You're part of me and when I'm without you, I'm incomplete ..." Dag's palm was warm against my bearded cheek and I revelled in the feel of it. His thumb absently stroked my lower lip and I held my breath. Need coursed like wildfire through my blood and my snug calfskin breeches suddenly felt uncomfortably tight.

Dagonet raised his free hand and carefully swept my hair away from my face, "Gods ! How I've missed you, my Scout ..." he said huskily, his eyes fixed intently upon my face. They flickered briefly to my lips, then held my gaze once more.

"Wh-What about Gawain ... ?" I managed to rasp, then closed my eyes. I bit my lip to stifle the groan of lustful need which was threatening to escape.

"I love Gawain ... He was there for me when I needed someone, Tris. As I was for him. You've nothing to fear, I swear. It's always been you ... It'll _always_ be you ..."

"Who says I'm afraid ?" I snarked shakily, lacking my usual bite. His touch was so distracting, yet so very welcome and happily, I leant into it.

Dagonet grinned. "I do ... I know you only too well, Scout ... I can see it in your eyes." His hand trailed down my shoulder and took hold of mine and our fingers interlaced as his forehead came to rest against mine. His breath gently caressed my face and I felt the tension seep away from my body.

"So ... ?" I began cautiously, resting my hand upon his taut, muscular, leather-clad thigh.

"So ... ?" Dagonet countered lightly. I could tell he was smiling by the sound of his voice.

"What happens now ? Where do we go from here ?"

"Haven't a bloody clue, Scout. All I know is that I'd like to find out ... But I don't want to rush it. I want us to take things slowly ... Day by day ... if that's alright with you ?"

It was more than alright. I lightly traced my fingers over the scar which ran down and marred his handsome profile and not daring to believe my luck, replied huskily, "Whatever you want, Wolf ... Whatever you want ..."


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** _Still_ not mine, despite an obsessional, copious amount of wishing, hoping and praying. Everything recognizable belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer and Touchstone Pictures - godsdammit !

**Warning:** _contains slash and strong language._

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**Chapter IX**

**Meanwhile, earlier ...**

**Gawain's pov:**

Even though I'm fond of Dagonet and I care for him deeply, as I waited for him at the tavern I was struck by a sudden thought. Call it insight, a revelation or even an epiphany, if you will ... but whatever the hell it was, I realized something important. Something no matter how desperately I denied it or wanted it to be proved wrong, I couldn't. And that something ?

I _wasn't_ in love with Dagonet ... and I never would be. Not while Galahad, the one who constantly haunted my thoughts and dreams, still drew breath. That pig-headed, bloody-minded, passionate, moody Whelp of mine. My other half. And my soul mate. And because of, or thanks to him, I knew deep down in my heart, that what I had with Dag was wrong. That the longer I continued to dally with him, the greater my betrayal of Galahad would be ... and that was something I could never live with in good conscience. Nor, if I'm honest, would I want to. No, this dalliance with Dagonet couldn't go on. It _had_ to stop. As of now.

Once I came to that decision, the heaviness I'd carried in my heart for months seemed to lift. The weight upon my shoulders vanished. Everything seemed clearer to me ... made more sense. All I could think of was my all. My everything. My Whelp. Galahad. How much he meant to me. That I still needed, wanted and adored him. I loved the way the fire flashed in his dark eyes when he was engrossed by something. Or the way they often narrowed in anger or suspicion. I loved his spirit, courage and passion. His sweet nature and childlike innocence. His sense of honour and goodness. Gods ! I even loved the little bastard's temper, his unpredictability and those godsawful strops he threw when Bors and Tris baited him, something which my brethren struggled to comprehend. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that I love my impossible, temperamental Whelp ... warts 'n' all ...

When all's said 'n' done, I miss him. Not having Galahad in my life, being without him, truly hurts. Far more than any physical wound I've suffered. It's like I've lost a part of me ... something vital. Something irreplaceable. I miss having him by my side. Hearing him bitch and snipe like a waspish, old crone. I miss seeing that smile of his which lights up his face and hearing him laugh in genuine mirth. I miss his company ... his presence and the way he always used to have my back as I had his and continue to do so. But most of all, I miss having him in my arms and in my bed. There's a huge void where he used to be. An emptiness which can never be filled by anyone, no matter how fond I am of them. And that's probably why I've never been able to take things further than heated, stolen kisses, needy caresses and lustful hand jobs with Dag, never mind the odd occasion where we've both pleasured each other with our mouths. It's why I've never felt the need or craved further intimacy with anyone other than my Galahad. And honestly ? I suspect Dag feels exactly the same way ... that he's unable to be completely intimate with any man save Tristan, simply 'cause Dag continues to love and is still in love with him. Just like a pair of mated wolves, neither will be truly happy without the other as the two of them are bound together ... for life.

Now aware of what I had to do, I felt a fleeting pang of regret. Of remorse. Knowing that I'd definitely end up hurting someone who'd become very dear to me. Someone who'd been there for me when I was at my lowest. Someone who'd comforted me, given me solace when I needed it the most. And now ... now I was going to abandon him for someone who'd forsaken me. I was going to stop meeting up with Dag on the sly. There would be no more trysts between us. And although I felt guilty for using Dagonet and what I was about to do to him would hurt him, the knowledge that his suffering would be far less than the agony Galahad would feel if he ever discovered just how close I'd become to our Healer made it an easier decision to make.

And with that in mind, I slowly rose to my feet and left the tavern. Leaving an untouched ewer of ale and two unused tankards upon the table I shared with Dag for the last time ...

_**XXXXX**_

Once I'd left the tavern, I felt an intense need to be alone. For me to crave solitude was a rarity in itself as I was known amongst the brethren to enjoy the company of others ... and that I hated to be alone. But now, for the first time in my life, I wanted to be by myself ... I _needed_ time to clear my head and to think. And to do that, I needed to be where I always took shelter when I wanted peace and quiet or to unwind. My bolt hole ... The baths.

When I finally reached my destination and trudged through the doors, I was relieved to find the place empty ... and blissfully silent for once.

Grabbing a clean, white bath sheet from the attendant, I saw that he was clearly bemused by my unexpected arrival. It was then I realized the lateness of the hour, which explained why no one else was there and gave an inward groan before hurriedly muttering an apology to the man, as well as informing him that I wished to be left alone to bathe before retiring for the night. He merely shrugged his shoulders, then silently turned on his heel and left me to my own devices.

With a sigh of relief, I toed off my heavy boots then quickly shrugged out of my over-shirt and tunic, before stripping off my leathers which were starting to feel too snug. Another audible sigh escaped my lips as soon as I was free from the restricting confines of my leathers. I wrapped the sheet around my waist before rolling my aching shoulders, then slowly ambled towards the large, sunken bath in the main chamber. Suddenly feeling inexplicably tired, I stifled a yawn and began to loosen the bath sheet, allowing it to fall on the marble floor, before slowly lowering myself into the pool. The moment the hot, soothing, herbal infused water contacted my skin, I moaned softly and simply revelled in the feel of it as I waded across to the bench situated at the deep end.

Once there, I briefly ducked my head under the water then threw it back, causing my wet, tangled mane to fall messily across my shoulders before sinking down on the bench and closing my tired eyes.

_**XXXXX**_

All I can say is that I must have fallen asleep. I don't actually remember dropping off, but I must've done as I was suddenly roused by a familiar voice. One which hadn't spoken to me for a while.

"Thought I'd find you here ..."

Startled, my eyes flew open and immediately fell upon _him_. The one person who persistantly disrupted my life, intruded upon my thoughts and invaded my dreams. And the one person I loved more than life itself. Galahad.

I closed my eyes and groaned inwardly. My handsome kinsman was all I ever wanted, ever needed, but right now ? He was the last person I wanted to deal with. Not when I was tired and my head was all over the place.

"What the bloody buggering hell are you doing here, Gal ?"

He slowly approached the pool, his dark gaze firmly holding mine. He shifted uneasily and for him, was unusually quiet. We both eyed each other in silence until something inside of me suddenly snapped and I finally lost my patience.

"_Well ?_"

Galahad's long, slim fingers absently rubbed his bearded cheek ... a definite sign that he was agitated about something.

"Can we talk ?" he finally blurted out. "I think it's time we did- "

I inhaled sharply and growled angrily, "Gods ! You can be a right bloody arse, Galahad ... y'know that ? A fucking arse ! I've been trying to talk to you for bloody months, for mercy's sake and you were too pig-headed and childish to even give me the time of day. You never gave me a chance to explai- "

"Please, Gawain- "

I pinched the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger and slowly shook my head. "_Why ? _Why the fuck should I, huh ? ... No, I can't do this ... I'm too tired and pissed off to deal with you right now."

"But- "

"Just bugger off 'n' leave me be ... Come back when you've grown up." I closed my eyes, hoping he'd take it as a sign of dismissal. But it appeared the gods weren't on my side.

There was a sudden splash, then I felt the water ebb and flow as Galahad, fully dressed in his leather tunic, kilt and boots, waded towards me. Sighing heavily, I opened my eyes once more, before narrowing them to glare at him.

"_No !_" For once, he didn't flare up in anger, but his reply was calm and the look on his boyishly handsome face determined. "I'm going nowhere ..."

I frowned then came to a swift decision. If he wasn't going to bugger off, then I would. "Then I'll go," I snarled. I was about to turn and climb out of the water, when Galahad snatched my wrist and held it firmly. I immediately tried to wrench it free, but as soon as I did, his grip tightened further.

"Don't you fucking dare, Gawain. _Don't you dare_. You're staying. There's something I have to say and you're going to listen. Aye ?"

The glower I bestowed upon him was both furious and defiant. "Let me go, puppy, before I do something we'll both regret ..."

He shook his head obstinately. "Like I said, there's something _you_ need to hear ... to know ... and you're damn well going to listen 'cause I'm only going to say it once ... I'm sorry. Sorry I never gave you a chance to explain ... Sorry for acting so rashly and for being a stubborn ass ... And I'm sorry things got so fucked up between us. I miss you, Gawain ... _Really_ miss you."

His words suddenly made my heart race wildly. I could hear blood rushing in my ears. Feigning indifference, I replied coldly, "So, you miss me ... Am I supposed to care ?"

A stricken expression flickered for an instant across Galahad's face as he watched me in wide-eyed disbelief. "_Gawain !"_

I shrugged then bit my lower lip to prevent myself from grinning. Although I loved my kinsman dearly, after the pain he'd caused me, I couldn't stop myself from tormenting him a little. Well, it was the least I could do for the little sod.

"Aye ?"

"I ... I said I missed you ... doesn't that count for anything ?"

My response was another non-committal shrug. And that was what started to fray his patience.

"Godsdamnit, Gawain ! I _still_ love you, you pillock ... was that what you wanted to hear ? Well ... was it ?" he snapped. "If it is, then aye, I still do ... Still want you ... Still need you ... Want you to take me back, if you'll still have me ? So I can make it up to you ..."

"I don't know ..."

"Please, Gawain ... One chance. That's all I ask. Just one ..." He cautiously closed the gap between us and gently cupped my left cheek with the palm of his right hand. And before I could stop myself, my traitorous body betrayed me and leant into his touch. "Please, love ... I'll try my damnedest not to bollocks things up between us again. I daren't ..."

"You swear ?" I asked warily.

He nodded. "I swear I'll try not to ..."

Galahad's gaze drifted to my mouth then back again to meet mine. His dark eyes pleading. Smoky and soft with want and love. I felt his left hand come to rest on my right hip and he gently pulled me towards him. His head lowered towards mine and before I could protest or try to push him away - not that I wanted to, mind - he swiftly claimed my lips, brushing them sweetly ... tenderly ... playfully with his. Effortlessly coaxing a response from me. Knowing that after all this time apart, I'd be helpless to resist him. And he was right ... I could no more resist him than I could stop breathing. And I didn't want to. Not when I was finally making headway with him.

The kiss swiftly evolved into something more heated. More intense. And full of passion. After a while, I had to break free as the need for air became too great. And as I did so, I looked down and saw that his leather tunic and kilt were sodden. Smirking faintly, I shook my head at the sight.

"Gods ! Gal, y'do realize you look like a right tit ?"

Galahad responded with an eye roll followed by a boyish grin. "Don't care ..."

My eyes widened with shock. Considering how obsessed my Whelp was over the blasted kilt's appearance, his off-hand reply regarding it, threw me completely. Before I got a chance to question him further or check if something was ailing him, he spoke.

"So ... does this mean you're taking me back ?"

Struggling to keep a straight face, I gave him a thoughtful look as if to give the impression that I was giving the matter great consideration.

"Don't know ..." Seeing his face fall, I grinned impishly at him. "But if you take me to bed, I'll let you know in the morning ..."

A sudden pinch to my left buttock made me yelp. "You git !" Galahad murmured huskily, then gave my right hand a tug, leading me towards the steps out of the pool. "C'mon then, y'daft arse ... before you change your mind and get cold feet."

And with a daft grin on my face, I happily followed him.


	11. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** _Still_ not mine, despite an obsessional, copious amount of wishing, hoping and praying. Everything recognizable belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer and Touchstone Pictures - godsdammit !

**Warning:** _contains slash and strong language._

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**Chapter X**

_**Dagonet's pov:**_

Gods ! How could I have been so stupid ? So wilful ... How could I have denied myself - denied _him_ - this pleasure ? This euphoria. I must've been mad ...

Oh, how I've missed him. Truly missed him. The sight, sound, taste and feel of him ... It's been far too long ... such a waste of precious time. Time which we both stubbornly squandered ... Time which we could - no, _should _- have been using to sort out our differences. Our grievances. Instead of existing in denial and solitude ...

But now, as I fall back upon the thick furs covering his bed, lethargic, sated and totally spent, I dare to hope - to dream - that things have finally changed for us. Changed for the better. As I throw my forearm across my eyes and inhale deeply in an attempt to catch my breath and regain my composure, I feel the mattress shift beneath me, then the sensation of warm skin and a lean, lithe, sinewy frame inching with agonizing slowness up my still sensitive, responsive body. Covering it. Warm, dry, firm, sensuous lips rain kisses over every exposed inch of me, making my breath hitch and my body tense, then unbelievably, clench with need once more.

Long, slim, calloused fingers trace patterns where those talented lips have been and I writhe lazily in response, eliciting a throaty laugh from him. A laugh of pure joy and contentment. It sends a white heat racing directly to my nethers once again and makes my heart career wildly. Suddenly, the sensation of warm breath upon my cooling, damp skin has me burning with a need - a fire so intense - that I'm blinded by it. It rages fiercely within me. Consumes me.

Then, that beautifully shaped mouth latches hungrily to my nipple. Sucking. Biting. Laving. Teasing. Tormenting. Tantalizing. Driving me insane, until my body arches upward repeatedly towards his and my hands scramble blindly for purchase upon his lean hips. I hold him firmly in place, loving the feel of strong, toned thighs straddling mine and the fierce, gentleness and possessiveness of his touch. I feel his lips curve into a slow, wicked smile; the graze of his neatly trimmed beard and the tickle of long, wild, silky hair caressing my tender flesh. And again, I curse myself for my stubborness; for my coldness and the bitter hatred which made me deny and hurt him ... as well as myself.

I'm suddenly distracted from my thoughts by an elegant hand slipping between our bodies. The nail of his forefinger lightly grazes my inner thigh and I gasp sharply as it slowly, teasingly, continues to idly wander towards its goal. It isn't long before the hand insinuates its way between my thighs to gently fondle my balls, then wrap possessively around my painfully hard and swollen shaft. Caressing it. Stroking it. Laying claim upon it. Leaving me in no doubt that he truly owns me.

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

_**FLASHBACK**_

I watched him turn to leave.

Saw the anguished look appear in his striking golden eyes and the hope that had begun to blaze within them flicker, then wane before dying completely. Nothing remained except for intense sorrow and regret and he hastily stumbled away from me in silence and wounded indignation. Stunned by his reaction - of how he'd admitted defeat without even putting up a fight - I could only watch him leave and noted with dismay that he didn't bother to look back. That he stalked briskly out of the tavern. Seeking solitude and to succumb to the need to lick his wounds. To flee from prying eyes. To create distance. And to be away from me ...

I realized I'd hurt him deeply with my poor choice of words and cruel manner and hated myself for it. And the fact that he'd been the one to reach out to me with an offer of an olive branch ... that he'd wanted to make peace between us, made me feel even more of a bastard. It couldn't have been easy for him, for when it comes to discussing and revealing his feelings, he is as bad or, if I'm being honest, even worse than I am at confiding.

Shaking my head regretfully, I stalked out of the tavern in search of him.

After visiting all his known haunts, I eventually tracked him down to the ramparts. In a part the other fort inhabitants tended to avoid at night. I knew it would be somewhere he'd bolt to when he yearned for solitude and I wasn't disappointed. I found him, sitting with his shoulders slumped and head bowed, his long, thick mane shielding his face from my eyes. He looked so dejected and vulnerable and so unlike the quietly confident, self-assured man that I knew and loved. I could tell he was brooding, that he was lost in thought, for he was completely unaware of my presence until I softly uttered his name.

And that's when he turned on me. Like a wounded animal snapping at someone attempting to heal it. He refused to look at me and furiously demanded that I leave him be. That I clearly wasn't there for him and that I should get the fuck away from him and go to the one I wanted to be with ... The hurt and pain in his husky voice was palpable, but what threw me entirely was the faint crack in it that revealed the true depth of his feelings.

I ignored his anger and demands and merely sat beside him in silent contemplation. Then, staring into the distance I quietly remarked that I was exactly where I wanted to be and that we did need to talk. It took a while to coax a response from him, but once I did, everything came flooding out like a river bursting its banks. Wave upon wave of relentless emotions. Guilt. Pain. Sorrow. Regret. Despair. Need. Longing. And most of all ? Love. Love that was so strong. So intense, that it consumed him. Was tearing him apart.

And seeing him like this ... so vulnerable and without hope, was heartbreaking. I reached out and tilted his chin, forcing his eyes to meet mine and I finally confessed how I felt. That I missed him. Needed him. Craved him ... and despite everything, still loved him. After that, the defensive walls we'd built between us crumbled and we continued to talk. Started building bridges. Began making amends.

I felt him skim tentative fingers over the scar on my face and my body, which had been starved of his affection for so long, instinctively leant into his touch. I sighed softly, then swept a stray lock of hair across his shoulder, tucking it carefully behind his ear. His gaze held mine once more. It was soft. Full of warmth. Need. And longing.

"Gods, Dag ... How I've missed you ..." he breathed hoarsely. "Truly missed you ..."

He drew me closer, his breath ghosting over my lips before he claimed them. It was a fleeting, feather-light touch. A kiss of tenderness and sweet yearning. Unlike any which we'd ever shared, yet it inflamed me as intensely as his fieriest, passion-laden kisses. Then, all too quickly, he pulled away, leaving me bereft and needy. I groaned in protest and found my fingers curling around his nape, idly caressing him.

"Fuck ! For mercy's sake love, don't tease ... I ... I need you ... Want you ..." I growled throatily, dying for his touch and to taste him.

A faint, knowing smirk played on his lips and I felt his fingers lace with mine. He rested his forehead briefly against mine, then began to rain kisses on my face, moving at an agonizing pace until he finally reached my mouth. I inhaled raggedly, gasping for breath then moaned softly as he began to kiss me once more. The kisses soon changed from tentative, sweet, tender caresses and became harder, more demanding and increasingly hungrier. We clung to each other. Hands roaming possessively. Re-acquainting themselves with warm skin and hard, toned sinew.

We became lost in each other. Lost track of time. Of everything. Nothing mattered, except the intensely passionate man in my arms. I was deaf, blind and dumb to everything but him. Enslaved to the man I still loved more than life itself. Eventually, I reluctantly found myself breaking free from the smouldering kiss. The need for air had become too great. I raised my head and looked upwards at the sky and dimly became aware of the rain falling upon my face. I'd been so caught up in him - in the way he made me feel - that I hadn't noticed it had been raining steadily for quite a while.

I turned to look at him with a sheepish grin. Soaked to the skin, with his long hair wet and clinging damply to his face and neck, he returned my grin with a breathtakingly beautiful smile and rose to his feet.

" Come, my Wolf ... You'll catch your death here ... There's a good log fire in my room and a fresh pitcher of ale ... I can think of no one better than you to share them with ... " And with that final remark, I allowed him to drag me to my feet and willingly followed him.

_**END OF FLASHBACK**_

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

Gods ! I've missed this ... missed him ... greatly.

And going by the knowing look in those strikingly beautiful, all-observant eyes and the impish smile playing on his luscious lips, he's all too aware of what I feel. How much I need him ... How badly I want him. That I can't and am unable to hide it from him ... Nor, if I'm honest, do I wish to. Not any more.

Slowly, I raise a trembling hand to sweep a thick swathe of long hair over his broad shoulder, before cradling his nape with my fingers and drawing his head closer so that I may capture and feel those perfect lips against mine once more. I can't help myself ... I kiss him hungrily. Like a starving man. I crave him. Desperately. Even more than the air I breathe. More than life itself. He reciprocates with equal fervour and intensity. Demanding greedily what I willingly and eagerly allow him to take, yet somehow, he succeeds in paying me back in kind. Tenfold.

I find myself drowning in the feel of him as his supple body presses against me and his long, thick erection rubs against mine. Seeking the friction we both need and crave. The heady taste of him intoxicates me, like a blend of the finest, most potent wine and the sweetest and juiciest red apples and I'm unable to resist nibbling and licking his lips as I coax him into parting them. I hear him give a deep, soft growl before acquiescing to my pleas. His lips soften and part and he grants me access which I quickly take advantage of. I plunder his mouth avidly. Devour him. Intent of regaining what I'd lost all those months ago. All I'm aware of is the feel of him against me. The way his slim, dexterous, archer's hands tighten their grip upon my biceps. A grip which will surely leave dark bruises by morning. Yet I'm past caring, for they are a small price to pay, now that I have what I've longed for so desperately.

I hear another low, needy moan. Yet this time, I cannot be sure which one of us uttered it. Not that it matters in the least. His left hand reaches to cradle my right cheek and our fiery kiss finally burns less fiercely. It changes. Becomes lazy, sweet and tender. Yet no less intoxicating. It is a kiss of trust. Of need and commitment. And of pure love ...

A single solitary braid falls in front of me. I reach out and idly twist it around the black and silver clan ring which resides upon my right forefinger, before giving the dark hair a gentle tug. His body shifts and his legs tangle with mine, as if craving constant contact ... as if he fears I'll disappear like an inish. He reluctantly breaks our kiss to raise his head, then gazes down at me. I'm bathed by the heated passion and the deep love that shines brightly in those beautiful, intelligent golden orbs and the rare, joyful, warm smile which lights up his lean, noble countenance takes my breath away. Leaving me mesmerized and in complete awe of his beauty.

The braid slips free from my finger and I rest my hand against the side of his face, my thumb absently brushing against the tattooed stripes upon his cheek. I silently absorb his beauty which is illuminated by the pale, silvery glow of the moon as it filters into the chamber.

He still affects me as intensely now as he did when I first fell for him all those years ago. If anything - probably because I'd foolishly parted ways with him - my feelings, my love for him, have strengthened. Become deeper. More passionate. I'd stupidly believed that if I'd broke things off with him, I'd be able to deny what we had. What we'd shared. That I'd be able to forget him. But I was wrong. I'd been deluding myself. In this case, absence - of my own choice, not his - had only served to make my heart grow fonder. Proving beyond all reasonable doubt, that I'd never be able to commit fully or love another in this lifetime, or the next. And for a brief moment, I feel a fleeting pang of regret ... For Gawain ... That I'd been unable to give him what he deserved. My heart. I prayed that I had not caused him too much pain and that he would soon regain his heart's desire. As I had mine ... That his Whelp would finally see sense and realize that my dearest friend, my beloved brother, loves him with all of his being and beyond all reason ...

He slowly turns his head, his enigmatic gaze still firmly fixed upon me and tenderly brushes his lips against my palm, before reaching across the large bed to drag a blanket and a sleek, thick fur to cover our lower bodies which are still entwined. He smiles gently.

"So, my brave, handsome Wolf ..." he rasps huskily, the tone of his voice teasing and playful. "What happened to not wanting to rush it ? ... To wanting to take things slowly ? ... Day by day ... ?"

Growling softly, I act swiftly. Before he can react, I flip him onto his back and straddle his hips. Preventing his escape. Not that he seems eager to evade me. If anything, he appears content to be a wolf's prey. I feel his hands come to rest upon my flanks and he lightly, tenderly, skims his fingers across the large cicatrice upon my right side. I notice him bite his lower lip as he struggles to mask the sorrow that clouds his golden eyes as his fingertips gently caress the jagged and uneven skin. He inhales raggedly.

I lower my head towards his and fleetingly ... teasingly ... graze his lips with mine. He groans in protest and tries to follow and recapture them. To no avail. I smile lazily. Wolfishly.

"Trust me, my Scout ... We've wasted enough precious time. Had six, long fucking months to take things slowly and not rush things ... Oh, no, I've waited and wanted you for far too long, my love, for us to faff around each other any more. I need you ... Want you ... Love you too much ... I missed you so- "

"Not half as much as I've missed you, Dag ... Nowhere near as much ..." he replies huskily, his fingers lightly tracing patterns across my bare back and shoulders. "It's been a living death without you, Wolf. Nothing matters if I don't have you in my life ... If I don't have your love ... I swear on all that's sacred - on my life - that I'll never do anything so stupid or risk hurting you ever again ..."

"You better not," I growl softly. "If you do anything like that again, Tris ... I _will_ clip your wings. Don't doubt that I won't ..." I smile at him before reaching down to nibble his earlobe. He hisses and writhes beneath me and I feel his hands come to rest on my arse and his body arches up to brush against mine.

"Oh ... I'm in no doubt about that, Dag ... I'd have to be insane to want to fly anywhere else, now that I have _my_ Wolf back. Consider my wings well and truly clipped. There's no way I'm ever risking losing you again ... I've learnt my lesson. The hard way. The only way you'll get rid of me now is if you tire of me ... and even then you'll probably have to kill me to get rid of me- "

"Tris ..."

"Aye ... ?"

"Shut your yap. You talk too much ..."

"Bu- "

Smiling happily, I roll onto my left side, pulling my beloved Scout into my arms and shut him up the only way I know how. And the only way he _definitely_ wouldn't object to ...

**FINIS**


End file.
